


Best of All Ways

by rhiannon15900



Series: The Larton Chronicles [5]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: A/U, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10178999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannon15900/pseuds/rhiannon15900
Summary: Doyle gets inspiration for another book, Bodie gets a job and there's another wedding...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is by the author Rhiannon, which isn't on line; it's posted with her enthusiastic consent.
> 
> I'll pass on any comments or kudos to her.
> 
> Please let me know if you spot any typos, so I can correct them.
> 
> Hgdoghouse

THE LARTON CHRONICLES

FIVE

BEST OF ALL WAYS  
RHIANNON

The title is taken from The Young May Moon by Thomas Moore (1779-1852)

The Parish Council Meeting - a fine April day.

"Now, if someone will agree the Minutes from the last meeting, we will be able to get along in good time," said Mr Potter. "Ah, thank you, Mrs Stebbins."

That'll be the day, thought Doyle, and why Minutes? Seem to have been reading the damn things for hours.

"First," Mr Potter began, "we have received an offer of compensation for the damage caused by the fracas at the Three Stags last month."

After the match, thought Doyle.

"Mr Gamage has agreed to the amount, but East Gretton Council do wish to point out their team was sorely provoked by remarks about sheep."

There was a giggle from near Doyle. So that's what the fight was over, he thought.

"I don't know why we have these matches," said Mr Jenkins, ''they only bring misery and suffering in their wake. Should be stopped."

Doyle felt this argument was overstated. After all, three bloody noses; a black eye; mild concussion after being hit on the head with a chair, and two arrests for drunk and disorderly hardly constituted Armageddon 3.

"I don't remember that," said an unfamiliar voice.

Doyle peered down the table, Oh, he's honouring us with his presence.

"Was that when Madge and I were on our cruise? Did I mention we met...?"

"Yes, yes," said Mr Potter. "Now, we must move on."

"Too right," moaned Doyle's neighbour. "It will be opening time in twenty-five minutes at the Brewers."

"You'll be lucky," said Doyle. "At this rate we will still be here at closing time."

"It's the Larton Ferreter's big night," Mr Bates explained. "Compo's in two of the races."

"Oh," said Mr Doyle. He looked down at his feet. ''Not here, is he?"

"No, he gets fretful if he spends too long in his cage so I've left him over at the Brewers. Bodie is minding him for me."

Interesting, thought Doyle, he must have spent the afternoon there. Hope he isn't feeding the poor beast neat gin.

"I'm afraid," said Mr Potter, ''we have to discuss the matter of Skinner's Field again. Mr Jenkins and others have reported that certain activities are taking place there, especially in the evenings, and they feel it should be stopped. It's a right of way, women and children pass through constantly."

"Warning notices?" suggested an amused voice.

"Saying what?" Doyle could not resist adding his bit.

Several ribald suggestions followed.

Mr Potter banged his gavel. "We must remember there are ladies present," he said firmly.

Now you've done it, thought Doyle, especially as the best and worst suggestion had come from Lizzie Stebbins.

"Perhaps the vicar could say a few words on the matter at next Sunday's service," Mr Potter suggested hopefully.

The vicar looked unenthusiastic.

They then moved on at a better pace to discuss who had tipped slurry into the Piddle, which meant an expensive clean-up job. Pointed remarks were made that they would require a donation from the offender towards the cost, or legal proceedings would follow. As the offender's wife was a council member, they knew that news would get home. The sub-committee for the Summer Show reported all was on course - Doyle had flatly refused to serve on that.

"So, all we have left is the matter of what Larton is going to do for the Millennium celebrations," said Mr Potter. "Has anyone any ideas?"

A set of blank faces looked back at him.

"A decent toilet block for the village," suggested Lizzie Stebbins. "We could do with one, it's all very well for you men..."

"Quite, quite," said Mr Potter, hurriedly, "but that is a matter for the Health and Highways subcommittee, it's not suitable as a Millennium feature. Now, East Gretton are doing a pageant, 'East Gretton down the centuries'... "

"Won't last long then," said a dissident voice.

True, thought Doyle, the biggest event there was the Enclosures Act. Not even Cromwell slept at their lousy inn.

Doyle's companion was getting more and more agitated.

"At this rate," said Doyle, out of the side of his mouth like a Warner Bros prison movie, ''we will be here to see the bloody Millennium in."

"What about a witch burning?" suggested a cheerful voice. "The one we had in 1542 went very well."

"That is a tasteless suggestion," said the vicar firmly. He also vetoed a suggestion for a Millennium Maypole Dance.

"We all remember what happened in '73," he said meaningly.

I don't, thought Doyle, but perhaps it's better to remain in happy ignorance.

"Good heavens!" said Mr Potter, "look at the time. The Earl will be waiting. Shall we have a show of hands on resolutions 8/9/11?"

As usual there were some who had been on cloud 9 when 8/11 had been discussed and needed a quick précis to get up to date, but finally it was all over - till next month.

Doyle's companion set off like a rocket to the Brewers. When Doyle, moving at a more leisurely pace, arrived there, Mr Bates was unwinding a large ginger ferret who was coiled on Bodie's shoulder, peering with interest into one of his ears. 

Probably surprised to see daylight, thought Doyle.

Compo, on being removed from his soulmate, uttered a series of distressed squeaks as he was carried through to the back room - the noise as the door opened was considerable.

Doyle looked at the glasses littering tbe table.

"'Lo, Jack," he said. "Potter's coming over with the Minutes for your Lordship's approval." His sarcasm was completely wasted.

"Oh dear," said Jack, "I should be on my way home."

"No one's stopping you," said Doyle, with his usual charm.

"What are you having, Doyle?" Bodie inquired grimly.

"Whiskey," said Doyle. He launched into an account of the afternoon's suffering, then sat cradling his glass and glaring at his companions who, unmoved, had returned to a discussion on horseflesh.

"Damn," said Doyle, "there's Potter. I'm not going through all that again. I'll be in the Snug, Bodie - if you're coming home tonight."

"Agnes is in there," warned Jack. "She's driving me home."

"Rather her than go through that meeting again," said Doyle.

In the Snug, Agnes and Lizzie Stebbins were chatting over a couple of glasses. They nodded to him.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"Another lemonade," said Agnes. "It looks as though Jack will be some time yet."

"A gin and tonic would be nice, Ray," said Lizzie.

"I'm sure it would," said Doyle acidly, and ordered.

"I would have thought," said Agnes, "that the weather was still too inclement for activities on  
Skinner's Field."

"Don't," said Doyle, "I nearly bust something trying not to laugh. Blast Jenkins, he's the biggest killjoy in the village - probably to do with being Welsh."

"Watch it!" said Lizzie, who hailed from Brecon.

"How did that murder evening of yours go?" asked Doyle.

"Foul," said Agnes. "Rotten food, the company... Well, what my dear mother would have called a touch of the crossroads. Jack spent his time chatting to a frilly little thing playing a flighty French maid rather too well. I guessed the butler did it, while my loathsome brother Charles was there with a strange woman on his arm. They gazed soulfully into each other's eyes all through dinner, it was quite sickening. She did the flowers for the event apparently, they were the only tasteful thing there."

"Oh, I know all about her!" said Lizzie.

I bet you do, thought Doyle.

"She has a florist's shop in Gretton. Moved here from London. Well..."

"Shocking," said Doyle. "In trade, too. What will the Bodies say?"

Agnes gave him a quelling look. "I don't care if she smokes kippers for a living," she said,  
"but Charles is a married man, people will talk."

Doyle shrugged. "Only about eight have mentioned his illicit romance to me so far..." he said, "...this week."

Agnes choked on her lemonade. "Oh God! He should have stayed in the Army."

"It wasn't his idea to leave," said Doyle, grinning. "They were restructuring, they said."

"More like cutting out dead wood," said Lizzie.

"Doyle, you can stop laughing," said Agnes. "How would you like it, if - er..."

"Bodie went round with Bunty Stafford on his arm?" suggested Lizzie. "I saw them at the Brewers after the Hunt."

"I'd be delighted," said Doyle. "Any woman who can put back a dislocated shoulder in the middle of the hunting field is the right woman for Bodie. Besides, she did wonders for my knee. You can stop stirring, Lizzie. Go home and annoy Fred."

"Jack said you could have heard Will yell in Gloucester when she did it," said Agnes.

"Yes," said Doyle, "I was delighted to hear about it."

"I need a lift home," said Lizzie. "Fred's being mean with the car, says there might be trouble in the Middle East and he wants to save petrol for the tractors."

"All right," said Agnes, "we will drop you off."

"I saw the Colonel in her shop in Gretton," said Lizzie, ''when I went over for the market last Friday. Serving he was, and being ever so pleasant to people."

"Never!" said Agnes. "This is serious, I wonder if Winnie knows."

"If she doesn't, she's the only one," said Doyle. "I wonder if those two have drained the cellar yet."

"I wish you would keep Will at home more," said Agnes. "He's a bad influence on Jack."

"I haven't the energy," said Doyle. He fixed a giggling Lizzie with a piercing look. "If that gets about, my girl, I'll put a hex on you."

"Ray! Just see if there is any sign of Jack moving, will you?" asked Agnes, "I'm going to miss my programme at this rate."

Doyle looked cautiously into the main bar. Mr Potter was deep in discussion with the vicar, while Bodie and Jack were chatting to Compo's owner. The beast - whose table manners were a reproach to many of the bar's clients - was daintily lapping a raw egg from a dish, pausing at intervals to clean his whiskers.

Doyle strolled over to them aware that behind him in the Snug, Charles's love life and – more importantly - his own, were probably being mercilessly dissected.

"Jack, your lady is getting restive," said Doyle. "You're dropping Lizzie off too."

"A cliff?" Bodie inquired hopefully. "What's the Welsh witch found out now?"

"Tell you on the way home," said Doyle. He stroked Compo. "Bright lad, isn't he?"

Mr Bates beamed. "Won his two races," he said proudly. "If you ever want a ferret, Mr Doyle..."

"Er, no," said Doyle. "My cat wouldn't appreciate a competitor. Bodie!" His companion was starting to wander away.

 

"So what's the latest?" Bodie asked as they walked home.

"Usual goings on at Skinner's Field, Jenkins wants it stopped. East Gretton is paying for the damage at the Three Stags. We have to think of an event to celebrate the Millennium."

Bodie groaned. "I was hoping no one would notice it happening," he said.

"So was I," agreed Doyle. "The vicar has banned witch burning and maypole dancing, possibly bear-baiting too."

"Shame," said Bodie.

"Then your Charles has been making a fool of himself with a florist from Gretton and, on the basis of her replacing your shoulder, you and Bunty Stafford are now an item, according to Lizzie."

"I don't care for tall girls," said Bodie. "Maybe Winnie will kill him."

"What you like," said Doyle, "are large, noisy girls who can pitch hay. The day you turn up with a fragile little thing with pansy eyes, I'll start worrying."

oOo

"Now this is more like it!" said Doyle, looking about his home with approval. Bacon sandwich in one hand, coffee mug in the other, he settled himself on the bench by the kitchen door for an early breakfast.

"Hey, you!" he yelled stablewards, "put your bucket down. Breakfast's ready."

A dishevelled figure, smelling strongly of horse, went past him into the kitchen, returning with sandwich and mug. Doyle had long given up suggesting that Bodie really should wash his hands first.

"Talk about God's in his heaven, all's right with the world! That sort of day, isn't it. Book's finished," Doyle enthused. "I was beginning to feel like that poor sod in the poem - instead of the cross, the albatross round his neck was hung. Only thing that kept me going was the thought of having to return the advance - which I couldn't, having spent it on my ponds."

He lit his first cigarette of the day.

"Everything all right in the stables?" he asked. "I wish you'd remember to leave some work for Jos to do, especially with that shoulder. What have you on today?"

"Everything's fine," said Bodie. "I've put Sarah and Flash in the paddock. I'll turn their boxes over later. Piper needs some exercise. Fancy coming out with me this morning?"

"Can't," said Doyle, regretfully, "Have to stay in for a call from Halliwell. He was very insistent about it, just because I've managed to evade him for three weeks now. Knew my luck wouldn't hold."

He brightened. "Maybe it's to tell me I've been short-listed for the Booker prize, which I shall decline modestly, of course."

"Not likely," said Bodie, "look at the rubbishy books that win."

"I'm just going to relax," said Doyle. "Going to look at my ponds in a minute."

"There are ducks on the big one," said Bodie. "You didn't tell me we were expecting ducks."

Doyle sat up. "They are not staying," he said firmly. "I don't want them bobbing about, stirring up the water. Are you sure?"

"Pair of mallards," said Bodie. "I could shoot them for you, they'd go nicely on a plate with green peas. They looked very pleased with the pond."

"Compliment really, isn't it," said Doyle magnanimously. "I'll go and introduce myself to them later. Fancy another bacon thingy? Thought you would. Lot of those e-mail things waiting for me, ought to rush in and look at them. On the other hand, it could be distressing news. I don't want to spoil my day."

 

Agnes, busy making out a list at The Hall, listened half-heartedly as Iris cleared the breakfast things while giving them a further instalment of her tempestuous love life.

"Amazing girl, that," said Jack, after their maid had departed. "Wonder where she gets the energy."

"Or finds the men," said Agnes. "Why are you reading that paper?"

"Mrs Acton wanted my opinion of a competition they're running. Live in a stately home, fill in your reason and snappy quotation."

"She already does," Agnes pointed out. "Ours, with all its inconveniences..."

"But we don't have double glazing, a jacuzzi, full central heating and views of St James's Park," Jack said.

"Knowing Basil Kelly," said Agnes, "it will be a flat in Admiralty Arch with no parking space. Warn her."

"Pity," said Jack. "Will gave her a really snappy quotation for the competition."

"Let's hear it," said Agnes, with foreboding.

He repeated the gem.

"Yes," said Agnes, "what I would have expected. I imagine Baz would laugh like a drain but he could hardly print it."

"You should have married him, you know," Jack went on dreamily. "With luxury homes everywhere, and you'd be Lady Kelly too. They say he's in line when they give out the prizes this year. Wonder which political party he bribed."

"All of them I should think," said Agnes. "And you know very well I couldn't stand the man, it was all pa's idea. But talking of marriage, it's time Toby stopped dawdling about and settled down, he needs a good shove. I've drawn up a list. Here, what do you think?"

Jack peered at it, then got out his spectacles and looked again.

"My word," he said, "graded one to ten, eh? I'm telling you now, number eight comes into this house over my dead body. What are we going to do, show it to the lad and say choose?"

"Certainly not. I need to consult their mothers, find out if they have current attachments, and whether they can stand Toby. He does know them all. Then invite them down - with friends of course. We can fit them in with the visitors. Do remember we are opening next month."

"Do we have to?" asked Jack, weakly.

"You know we do. You enjoyed it last year, it will be even better now with the Ghost Walk. Then there will be the concerts with fireworks and the dancing waters."

"Eh?" said Jack. "You didn't tell me. What ghost?"

"Good heavens," said Agnes, "Look at the time. Mervyn will be waiting for you in the estate office to go over the books. Remember you are Godfathering on Sunday. Little lsabella?"

"It's the Hunt," said Jack, aghast. "Can't someone else? What about WiIliam?"

"No, Jack, I don't think William is eligible, and no doubt he too will be bent on selfish pleasure on Sunday!"

With that, Agnes departed to the servant's wing while her dejected spouse set off to hear the worst from his estate manager.

 

Doyle wandered back into the kitchen. He had inspected the ducks, a meeting which had resulted in instant approval on both sides.

"Nice to see someone working hard, " he had remarked to Bodie as that person saddled his horse and moved off down the lane, accompanied by Jos on a resentful Flash, who had not planned on any early morning exercise. A sit and coffee, Doyle decided, was in order before he rushed in and inspected those e-mails. The village paper was to hand - two locals in court; the team lost as usual.

Ah - No Brakes Bill is for sale, is he? Must see Bodie doesn't put in a bid for him. Doyle was busy going through the local plant sales when the phone rang.

"Damn," said Doyle, "have to answer it."

Mr Halliwell started on a reassuring note - the book would be published next month, no problems, everything was well in hand and would Mr Doyle like to see copies of the reviews?  
Mr Doyle said he would not. "Well then," said Mr Halliwell on a upbeat note, "there is only the book tour to be finalised."

Doyle, who had been happily adding more lines to a rather risque limerick started by Bodie on the telephone message pad, was halted in mid-verse.

"What book tour?" he demanded.

"You remember," said Mr Halliwell, ''we discussed it at dinner last month. We thought London, Manchester and Bath or Bristol as they are both near your home. Perhaps Liverpool, then Dublin, of course."

"What's this 'of course'?" said Doyle. "You know I can't set foot in that dreadful city without something awful happening."

"Your book does have a strong Irish connection," Mr Halliwell pointed out. "You could make it a break in your tour. Mr Bodie might like to accompany you. His expenses would be met."

"I'm sure," said Doyle, heavily, ''that Bodie would love a free trip home, but that would do nothing for my sanity or peace of mind. The minute we set foot in Ireland he is off looking for a horse and that's the last I see of him till they ring me from Intensive Care. It's too much."

"That's only happened twice," said Mr HalIiwell. "Oh dear, I have to ring off now. I will send you the proposed itinerary. If you could come up to London next week we can discuss the final arrangements."

He rang off just as Doyle had thought of several excellent reasons to avoid the whole thing. He sat down. The day had darkened considerably. When had he agreed to go on a book tour? He hated them, he'd said so at length after the last one. Not on the phone surely, and when had he had dinner with Halliwell? A niggling memory began to surface. Hang on last month...Gretton.

That's it, Bodie had been with him. Just wait till he gets back.

 

By the time Bodie had returned from his morning gallop, happy and horribly energetic, Doyle had decided that one who should have had his welfare at heart had allowed a severely stressed, sensitive writer, who longed only for peace and quiet, to be tricked onto a literary treadmill.

Waiting till Jos had departed down the road to the Heatons he went in search of Bodie to have a good row. He finally discovered his companion grooming his horse and, as usual, giving it far more attention than his own stable mate.

"Bodie, Halliwell seems to think I agreed to a book tour at dinner in Gretton last month. You don't think he's started drinking? You remember anything about this?"

"You did," said Bodie. "Pass me the curry comb, will you? Stand still now, there's a sweetheart." He commenced crooning to his darling in the gaelic.

Doyle gazed heavenwards.

"Bodie!" he yelled, "I want to know. Now! Or I'm going to kill you!"

"Careful," said Bodie, "you're upsetting him." He paused to soothe Piper. "When we had dinner at El Macho's. You seemed quite happy about it at the time."

"Oh God," said Doyle, "it's all coming back to me now, the roaring tropic gloom...that damned Mexican band. I suppose you don't remember dancing the tango?"

Bodie put the brush down and pondered. "With you?" he inquired innocently.

"No! With Muriel Halliwell - she had a rose in her teeth. Alec and I didn't know where to look."

"Bugger," said Bodie. "Alec was up with the band playing the maracas, and you were beating the table yelling 'Ole!'. It was a great night."

"I must have been well away," said Doyle, sadly. "You could have stopped me. I suppose Halliwell offered you a free trip to Dublin, lousy conniving Irish blackguard."

"Who, Halliwell?" said Bodie. "He comes from Durham. Hey, has he offered us a trip? I could do with going over to arrange the autumn hunting trip. Now Malva has barred us from the castle, we need to find another base. I can't think why she did, we were never any trouble."

Doyle looked at him with exasperated affection. And he really believes that, too, he thought.

"Best thing she could have done," he said unsympathetically. "Get some decent paying guests in and your drunken, pillaging mates out. Must be like having the Vikings. You'll have a job finding someone else prepared to let you loose on their delicate furnishings."

"I know," said Bodie glumly. "I even thought of Giles, but Elsie said no very definitely. Maybe there is something in the e-mails."

Doyle stared at him. "You mean some of that pile of garbage in there is yours? Come on, let's go and get something to eat."

 

"Well," said Doyle, as he sorted through the e-mails, "at least 99 per cent of them seem to be for you."

"Do any of them say you and the lads will be very welcome and we can supply first class stable accommodation?" Bodie inquired as he sliced bread.

"Not so far, some fascinating excuses though, ranging from the house is in danger of collapse - probably true - to we expect her Majesty to visit shortly - which isn't. Listen to this one: 'If you set one hoof on my land, Bodie, you will be shot!'. What did you do?"

Bodie wandered over and studied it. "That's just Boyle, better cross him off the list."

"Why is he annoyed with you?" Doyle inquired.

"Decked him at a Hunt Ball, years ago, private matter," said Bodie.

"I'd still like to know about it," Doyle said hopefully.

"Too bad," said Bodie firmly. "Are you going on the book tour then?"

"Have to, Halliwell will have my signature in blood somewhere. I'll see him next week and try to get some of the places taken off the list. Damn the phone, if that's him I've collapsed with nervous prostration and you are very worried about me. I'm off to the study."

"I am?" said Bodie picking up the phone. "Hello, Jack, what's your problem?"

"Oh God," said Doyle, picking up his lunch and departing.

 

When Bodie went into the study, Doyle was gazing bemused at his screen saver as horses galloped across it at irregular intervals, taking a few fences on the way.

"I knew you would like it," said Bodie happily. "Gladys put me on to them."

"It's driving me daft," said Doyle. "I keep waiting for one of them to refuse. What's Jack's problem?"

"He can't come out with us on Sunday. He's in church with Mervyn and Primrose's latest. The vicar wasn't receptive to adjusting the service time to accommodate him. They didn't ask you this time then?"

"Thankfully no," said Doyle. "I'll never forget the triplets, we got confused swopping them about. I'll swear one of them got done twice. You're the only one I know who can tell them apart."

"It's easy, just like telling hounds apart," said Bodie. "You notice all the small differences. Freeman, Hardy and Willis are little crackers."

"Alice, Clara and Penelope is what we named 'em," said Doyle, "not that anyone ever calls them that. Back to the salt mines. Any calls for me, I'm out."

 

An hour later the phone went again. Bodie regretfully put down The Field and answered it.

"Hello, Alec, Ray's not home at the moment. Yes, the Hunt is on Sunday. Be happy to have Muriel with us, Ray says the ladies are a civilising influence. He'll lend her Flash, he's steady as a rock. No, Ray's playing the organ. Liz Stebbins fell off the stepladder white-washing her ceiling and broke her arm. Mother Braithwaite's carousing in the South Seas, I'm acting Master as Fred has to be home with Liz laid up. Should be a good run, some of Jack's house party will be there too. Right, I'll give her all the details."

oOo

Mr Halliwell handed the phone to his ecstatic spouse.

"Ah, there you are," said Mr Halliwell. "A fine sunny day, isn't it? Miss Holyoake, coffee and cake in about thirty minutes, I think."

He ushered Doyle, looking like a small thundercloud, into his office. "You have looked at the possible itinerary I sent?" he inquired hopefully. "Any problems?"

"Several," said Doyle, grimly. "You've added more places. I never agreed to Birmingham, let alone Liverpool! Especially after last time."

"Yes. " said Mr Halliwell. "Before we start negotiating, Muriel wishes me to thank you for the loan of your horse last weekend. She had a wonderful time, and would you give Mr Bodie my thanks for returning her to me in one piece - if rather tipsy. I gather several gentlemen forced alcohol down her throat in the course of the outing. Apparently many of the runs end up near licensed premises?"

"Indeed they do!" said Doyle. "I damned near rang the police and reported my horse stolen - I came home from a hard morning playing the harmonium to find an empty stable. Then, just as I was about to dash to the phone, Ashley arrived with a cheese, wanting to know who that sparky redhead was up on Flash. A real goer at fences, he said."

"That's my wife," said Mr Halliwell proudly. "Our early years in Cork often had me pacing the floor at the local hospital as they reassembled her. She finds Wimbledon very restrictive that way. By the way, who was the dark haired girl who tipped young Toby Fanshaw off his horse in the stable yard, then proceeded to beat him up till Mr Bodie wrenched them apart?"

Doyle sighed. "Yes, I heard all about that. Toby criticised her riding. That was Moretta O'Brien. As Bodie says, you do not trifle with girls whose ancestors rampaged across Europe massacring all the way. He's barred them both from the next meet for bad behaviour - that fight was the final straw."

"He's a brave man," said Mr Halliwell.

"I've left Bodie and Mervyn going over the Hunt accounts," said Doyle, "and expressing astonishment at the book-keeping system. Fred handed them over, he can't understand the system Jenkins used - he resigned in a huff, you don't want to know why. 

"Now, as to the dates for this thing... " he began.

Half an hour later, as they paused for coffee and cake, Mr Halliwell felt a strong sense of empathy with siege negotiators as Doyle fought over every town, village and establishment to be visited, conceding Bath, Bristol and Cheltenham as near his home, very reluctantly agreeing to Birmingham, but sticking fast at Liverpool.

"Last time I was there," he pointed out, "they had a bomb scare at Aintree. I had my wallet lifted, Bodie got a black eye - which he deserved - and we ended up staying the night in a shebeen full of drunken Irishmen."

"That's no way to describe the Adelphi Hotel," said Mr Halliwell mildly. "We paid the bill, if you remember."

"I did not agree to any television interviews," said Doyle, returning to the attack.

"That is your publisher's idea. I am against it myself, after Manchester. I'll see if we can eliminate some."

"Right," said Doyle. "Now, if you could arrange the Dublin trip at the same time as their Horse Show, and supply Bodie and I with two rooms at the Shelbourne, he can be off with his ghastly friends at the Show while I'm working, so I won't be worrying about him. We can have a break, too."

Doyle, feeling he had made an excellent job of a bad business, collected his car at Gretton station and began the drive home, singing along with his car radio and enjoying the moonlight, while alert for nocturnal wanderers with bad road sense.

Bodie probably had his head down by now. What the hell was that notice - awful yellow thing? Oh God, not another election, surely they'd had one a year ago. Best thing about a one-party state, they didn't waste their time importuning your vote every six months! Waste of time really. Colonel Heaton was probably going to bequeath the safest Conservative seat - probably the only one! - to his grandson. Hope they don't send another twit down from London to contest it.

Surprised to find all the lights on at home, he settled his car back in the garage with a friendly pat on the bonnet - such a pity it had to share space with Bodie's muddy-wheeled van.

The smell of cooking greeted bim as he entered the kitchen. "Thought you would have been sound asleep by now. That smells good," said Doyle. 

"Just got back from the Hunt committee meeting at Fred's an hour ago," said Bodie. "'As all they had there was an old packet of biscuits, I'm ravenous. Fred can't cook, and Lizzie wouldn't."

"Thank goodness you can," said Doyle. "I could do with a bowl of soup. So how did things go, was Dai Jenkins cooking the books?"

"No," said Bodie as he ladled out the soup. "Once we cracked his system all was in order; just general shortage of cash. Need to raise some funds for next season. How was your day?"

"Awful," said Doyle. "Pass the rolls. How would you like to stay with me in a humble room in Dublin in Horse Show week?" 

"I'd stay with you in a garret, Doyle," said Bodie happily. "How humble?"

"The Shelbourne," said Doyle. "You can run amok with your drunken mates while I get writer's cramp signing the books. Do you think Phil and Marion would lend us that place they have at Bray?"

"Probably. He was saying they hardly ever use it now, too busy, and the young members of his family want something more exciting than a seaside trip."

"I see we are cursed with another election," said Doyle. "There's a poster up the road."

"I know, met Crispin Gould in the Brewers moaning he had to take the candidate round. Remember the last one kept getting lost, thought the lack of signposts was a plot against him."

"You mean that poor sod who came across a dusty Irish peasant mucking out in Jack's stables, believed all the lies the swine told him, and accused poor Jack of taking advantage of a simple soul, while Jack bleated, 'but he's my brother-in-law', and Agnes wanted to kill you? You do that again, my lad, and I'll kill you."

"Ah, he was asking for it," said Bodie, grinning. "And that's not all. I met Charles and his lady in the Wishing Well!"

"And?" said Doyle. "Let's finish that apple pie with cream while we are at it, can almost call it  
breakfast at this rate."

"Yes. You know, I remember her from somewhere. She looked at me, said 'Hello Will!' Then Charlie bundled her out."

"You mean your brother took his inamorata to the busiest watering hole in the village, which is packed to the brim with old tabbies, who, ten minutes after they got home would be broadcasting it all over Gloucestershire, and those on the Internet world-wide? Your Charlie would win prizes for stupidity. Why should she remember you? Not one of your old flames is she?" Doyle looked at his partner severely.

"No, I'd have remembered her, and none of my 'old flames' would be daft enough to want to go out with Charlie."

"Of course," said Doyle, "not when they could go out with you. Silly me. What were you doing in the Wishing Well anyway?"

"Bessie sent Jack there with the party order for the weekend. He made a serious error with the vol-au-vents last time so they asked me to keep an eye on him. Nice place, gave us a taste of their 'specials' ."

"What is going on at the Hall?" Doyle inquired. "Third do this month, isn't it?"

"I wondered about that too, finally got it out of Jack. Seems Agnes is busy sifting through all the available young ladies to find a future Countess of Bicester. Jack says it's awful, the demands on his nerves and wallet are sending him to an early grave. It took two whiskies to cheer him up - we'd got to the Brewers by then."

"You're having me on?" Doyle inquired. "Why can't she just let Toby find his own wife? After all, er, yes, I see the problem - it's the right lady that's bothering Ag. Moretta isn't on the list, is she?"

"No, she's just been bounced from her latest finishing school - probably tried to burn it down. Malva didn't dare leave her at home with only Declan and Mrs Fitzgerald to watch her. They brought over her elder sister Ditta for inspection - pretty girl, not very exciting. Once Jack cheered up, we decided to make a book on the event. Would you like a piece of the action?"

He passed over a list of 'runners'. Doyle looked at it bemused.

"You 're not telling me that those last two are possible runners," he said, "even at 500 to 1?"

"Well, no," said Bodie, "but it makes it more exciting. We can always say they scratched with the heavy going."

"That just about describes Toby," said Doyle. "Look at the time. I'm off to bed."

Bodie glanced at the clock, "I might as well stay up and starting mucking out early."

"Forget it!" said Doyle. "You're going to bed. You can tell me all about the Hunt committee meeting, send me off to sleep a treat that will."

He neatly dodged a flung dishcloth.

oOo

A week later, Doyle looked at the calendar with bitterness.

"It's only a fortnight away," he moaned. "Thought it was ages, but it's crept inexorably nearer and nearer. Do you know there are a pair of coot on the small pond now? I might as well have put up a notice inviting everyone in!"

"You wanted a wildlife pond," Bodie pointed out, whistling through his teeth as he read the local paper.

"Don't do that!" said Doyle, "It drives me up the wall. I wanted superior wildlife, not the dross from the local sewage farm."

Bodie just stopped himself from suggesting that should have been on the notice.

"Anything interesting in there?" Doyle inquired.

"John Heaton still hasn't sold No Brakes Bill - he's a good goer."

"As he's put three previous owners in hospital, that's not surprising," said Doyle. "And don't you even think about it."

"They're holding the summer fête at Gould's place this year, Prince Mongkut and his Mongol Hordes, and a celebrity opening it," said Bodie. There was a snort of disbelief from Doyle. "No, it doesn't say who. Professor Chuckles and his Magic Rabbit will also appear..."

Doyle pondered. "I know Prince Mongkut and his six man horde. It's that lot from Castle Combe - I don't think any of them have been further east than Swindon. But what does this Magic Rabbit do, sing dance, play the banjo?"

"No idea, I haven't heard of him before either."

"When is this riveting event taking place anyway?"

Bodie told him.

"Blast! I'll be in Harrods signing the damn book - I'd have liked to have seen that rabbit. I always miss the good stuff."

"You never told me you were at Harrods, I thought you just had Waterstones in London."

"So did I. Halliwell slipped it in quietly. He knows I can't stand the place, or the people who shop there," said Doyle glumly. "By the way, your barracks are still sending e-mails for you, I wish you would answer them."

"I'm still thinking about it," said Bodie. "If you're away on the 26th, I'll arrange to have the Hunt committee meeting here, get everything sorted out."

There was a silence.

"Why here?" said Doyle. "Can't you and the other riffraff meet at Fred's, as usual?"

"He's resigned - lumbago. It's all right, we have appointed a new Hunt Master temporarily, see how things work out."

"Oh, I'm delighted to hear that!" said Doyle. "Hang on, you bastard! It's you, isn't it? So while I'm slaving my guts out over the computer to keep a roof over our heads, you will be entertaining the scum of the county. I've got a writer's block the size of an elephant and if I can't shift it, we are going to end up on the streets penniless, you croaking Danny Boy while I take a cup round in my shaking, palsied hands."

Bodie, reflecting that the local G.P., a police inspector, six farmers, a local landowner, sundry hospital personnel, village notables and divers ladies had been perhaps unfairly described, sighed.

"Are you planning to sit there moaning all day?" he demanded. "Come on, we are going out to lunch. It's about time you went out. I'm paying."

"I am not eating one of those pies at the Brewers," said Doyle, firmly. "We are going to the Wishing Well, so let's go before it starts raining again."

 

Doyle, wielding his knife and fork with enthusiasm, looked around the restaurant. "It's not bad here, I was wrong to vote against it," he admitted. "Wanted to keep tourists at bay. Sure you can pay for it, with pudding as well?"

"Yes," said Bodie. "Picked a couple of winners on the Irish national at the bookies yesterday. Jack and I had a hot tip."

"You're determined to annoy me today, aren't you?" said Doyle, grinning. "Expect I'll get used to living with an M.O.H., unfortunately. You know, that wishing well might do something for my writer's block, we'll try it after coffee."

 

"Right!" said Bodie, carefully positioning Doyle. "Now sip some of the water from the beaker, then throw the rest over your left shoulder into the stream, and wish."

Doyle sipped, pulling a face, then hurled the residue over his right shoulder. There was a shocked gasp.

"I'm so sor ... " said Doyle, turning. "Oh, it's you, Charlie." He stared at Colonel Bodie's companion. "Kitty!"

"Mr Doyle!" They began to chatter madly, their companions staring.

"I want a word with you, Charlie," said Bodie grimly. "We will be in the Brewers, Doyle."

He hustled his brother off, Doyle glancing after them. "Better let them get it off their chests," he said.

"Charlie would never strike William," said Kitty, with doting conviction.

Doyle, having seen the brothers being hauled apart at happy family gatherings, was less sanguine.

"Let's go to the Brewer's Snug and have a drink and chat," Doyle suggested, ''while those two sort things out."

As he listened to her, Doyle reflected that yet again other people's love lives came over like a bad B-movie script - her view of Charles was so different from his that he could only conclude that love not only made you blind but brain-dead as well.

If I raved on like this about Bodie, I'd be committed, he thought. Too clear-sighted, that's my trouble.

Kitty related her youthful secret engagement to Charles, the instant disapproval of both sets of parents, Charles packed off to Germany with his regiment, where he was lured away by Winnie - hard to believe that, thought Doyle - her broken-hearted departure to London, a course in floristry and marriage to, as Doyle knew, a real wrong 'un. He was then brought up to date with her two children, both doing well, married, in Canada, and admired photos of the grandchildren.

"I wanted to retire down here," Kitty said finally. "Well, you know how it is, I was bored so I opened a little shop in Gretton - they didn't have a decent florist then. Charlie just walked into the shop. I'd no idea you were the Mr Doyle at Parsons Farm sharing the house with William. Charlie is so relieved he has settled down, he used to worry about him."

Probably true, thought Doyle, biting back a sharp remark.

"Yes, it's a very handy arrangement. We'd better see if those two have murdered each other yet," he suggested cheerfully. But apart from Charles looking very ruffled all was peaceful, probably due to Jack, also at the table, looking grim.

"Afternoon, Mrs Redfern," he said with evident relief.

"Kitty and I must be off now," Charles said. "Afternoon, Doyle, Your Grace," he added to Jack, pointedly ignoring his brother.

"Thank God," said Jack as they left.

"I'd forgotten her," said Bodie. "What on earth does she see in Charlie?"

"Would you like a drink, Doyle?" Jack inquired.

"Yes, I would, and make it a double," said Doyle. "So how's the selection process doing?" he asked when Jack had returned from the bar.

"Down to three firm possibles," said Jack. "Of course Agnes and I have decided little Ditta would be perfect - nice quiet girl, kind-hearted, well brought up."

"Rich Mama," said Bodie. He received a dirty look.

"Not a crime," said Jack. "You won't believe it, but four scratched on the grounds the Hall was too cold to live in."

"Rubbish," said Doyle, heartily, "just because you sit at the table in Barbours and Huskies in the winter!"

"And the summer, occasionally," said Bodie.

"Trouble is," Jack went on, "when we put it to the lad, he flew off the handle, went out banging the door after a few words - mostly from his Mother. She's very set on Ditta."

No competition for her, thought Doyle. Ah well.

 

"What does Kitty see in Charles?" said Bodie, again, as they walked home. "You knew her in London?"

"Yes, she had a flower shop near my old nick. I used to go in often for flowers."

"Why?" Bodie asked, his attention distracted by a horse in the next field.

"For my wife," snapped Doyle. "It's a thing you do when you're married, pay attention. Bodie! Where are you off to now?"

Bodie had climbed a gate and was advancing on the horse which, Doyle now realised, was dressed for riding, but lacking a rider.

"Better look for a body," Doyle muttered as Bodie reappeared, leading the horse and speaking to it severely. "No Brakes Bill in the horseflesh, I see," he continued. "Wonder who was fool enough to get up on him. Bodie, you're not riding that thing!"

"It'll be quicker," said Bodie. "Good thing I have the mobile with me." He turned the horse and galloped off.

Doyle looked after them. No Brakes Bill is certainly a handful, he thought. Ah well, always something exciting happening in the country.

He began to trudge across the muddy field looking for human wreckage. As he paused to extricate his boot from a particularly muddy patch, No Brakes Bill thundered up again; happily Bodie was still aboard.

"Ah, you're back, brought the good news from Aix?" Doyle inquired, still scraping his boot.

"No, bad news from the ditch in the next field. It's Toby. I've called an ambulance and told them the nearest access point. Could you go and comfort the lad, he's pretty miserable, looks like a fractured collar bone. I've rung Agnes, just need to dump this horse."

"Right," said Doyle, "I'll go and do my bit."

Bodie galloped off again.

Doyle found the victim sitting by a ditch wrapped in Bodie's jacket, looking extremely miserable.

"Hello, Toby!" said Doyle. "'Did your father know you were going out on that thing?"

"I was doing very well!" Toby protested, "till Bill saw a cow - it startled him."

"Yes, unusual to see cows round here," Doyle agreed. He looked about a cow-less landscape, "Where was this bovine?"

"Five fields back," said Toby. "I'd almost got Bill under control when we hit the fence. Dad's going to be furious," he went on. "He said, don't you dare buy that horse. I haven't - was just trying him out first."

"Better to know now," said Doyle briskly. "Even your Uncle WilIiam finds him a handful and he can ride anything. Now, let's have a look at you. Where does it hurt most?"

From the lurid description, Doyle gathered his patient was in sore distress but likely to survive.

"It's a really rotten day," Toby went on with all the misery of youth. "They started over breakfast. Miranda's results came through, she's going to university. I didn't mind that, she's a good egg, but then they started on me. You know how they go on."

"Dimly," said Doyle.

"They are dead set on me marrying Ditta. Well, Mum is. It's not that I don't like her, but I'd much rather marry Moretta, she has more go in her. We climbed all over the roof together, amazing what you find up there. Dad nearly went spare."

"Does Moretta want to marry you?" Doyle asked, to keep the lad interested, Toby was beginning to look ashen.

"No," said Toby. "She likes me a lot, but says it isn't exciting enough here. I said you'll be Countess of Bicester, she said so what. And Ditta is throwing tantrums back in Tipp. She says they will have to whip her and carry her bodily to the altar like Lady Jane Grey. Do you know who she is, Mr Doyle?"

"Er, yes," said Doyle. "But don't worry, it was all sorted out. So you are feeling pretty unwanted."

"Yes," said Toby. He commenced another round of lamentation.

Please, Bodie, thought Doyle, come back with, or in, the ambulance before my brain turns to  
soup listening to all this.

To his relief three burly men suddenly appeared with a stretcher. "Good day, Mr Doyle. Not another riding accident! That's the third this week," one said jovially.

"So what else is new?" said Doyle as they loaded Toby onto the stretcher, then made their way to the ambulance.

Bodie was sitting on a fence waiting for them.

"What did you do with that horse?" Doyle inquired, looking about. "Eat it?"

"Dumped it in Ed's paddock, it was the nearest. Last I saw he was trying to persuade Grace to let him buy it."

"I thought he'd just had his leg out of plaster," said Doyle.

"That's right. She was not sympathetic to the idea. Agnes will be at the hospital now, so we can go home."

 

"Must be something in the air round here," said Doyle as they sat by the Aga that evening. "Charlie having the romance of the century, according to his beloved. Young Toby not only refusing to marry his Mum's choice for him, but falling for a lady who isn't enamoured of being a Countess, while his Mum's choice is acting like poor Toby is a cross between Bluebeard and Lord Guildford Dudley."

"Eh?" said Bodie. "Have I missed something? What's Guildford Dudley got to do with it?"

"Not much, just used as dramatic licence," said Doyle. "Toby and I had a man-to-man chat on love's miseries while you were galloping about."

"I still don't see what she sees in a drip like Charlie," said Bodie, returning to his main theme.

"Bodie! If you say that again, I'll throttle you," said Doyle. "It's love, does funny things to people, softens the brain. Ended up with you, didn't I?"

"No comparison," said Bodie breezily, "I'm a much better catch than Charlie."

"Hate to agree, but you're probably right," said Doyle. "One thing I do like about you, at least you make me laugh. I have to pack for that damned tour tomorrow."

"I can get you an invite while you're in London," said Bodie. "The Masters of Drag-Hounds Association are having their annual dinner. Basil's picking the tab up, so it should be a good do. I'm going, so I can ask for a ticket for you."

"Basil who?" asked Doyle suspiciously.

"Kelly," said Bodie. "Owns the 'Slime Times', you must have heard of him?"

"Indeed," said Doyle, with menace. "He gave my first book a stinking review, it might have discouraged me! If you think I'm going to sit down to a dinner with that man and your drunken mates..."

"Surprised you didn't go up and complain in person."

"I did!"

 

Bodie looked unhappily at the pile of clean shirts Doyle was ironing while muttering savagely.

"You're off tomorrow then," he said.

"No," said Doyle, "I have this strange fetish about spending my time ironing shirts. You're in the way there. That was Halliwell on the phone, not only Harrods, but the bastard has slipped in a television programme, while he swans off to Vienna with no forwarding address. Second honeymoon for Muriel, he said."

"She'll like that," said Bodie. "They spent their first one in Whitby in a B&B, terrible weather, researching Bram Stoker. Which programme?"

"That art thing," said Doyle glumly, ''where the lad wears a pink bow-tie and affects an East End accent which needs more practise."

"Oh yes, Janet's boy."

Doyle stopped punishing a shirt. "Janet's boy?" he queried.

"I play bridge with her on Tuesdays," Bodie explained. "He picks her up sometimes, doesn't wear his bow-tie then. Nice woman, plays a very good hand. Opens her garden, it's in the Yellow Book - The Poplars, Lower Gretton. You know it."

"Just what I suspected," said Doyle. "And another thing, will you please see that rubbish is shifted from behind the garage. It's been there since we moved in! Even if you have to slip the bin men a fiver. If it's still there when I get back there will be trouble."

"Seems a pity to move it. Probably a whole new ecosystem has developed back there with unknown life forms."

"More likely rats," said Doyle. "I want it cleared! Also, when you meet me off the plane at Dublin - and you had better be there - I'd appreciate it if you were sober and not accompanied by one of your ghastly friends or, worse, a relative. Oh God... Get me a drink."

Bodie did so, then said, "I'll just go and rug up the lads," and left.

Don't know why I bother, thought Doyle. Giant oaks will spring up before he notices and does anything about it.

Half an hour later Bodie reappeared, hoping Doyle might now be in a more amicable frame of mind. "Our ducklings have hatched," he said.

"That's a relief, maybe George will stop attacking anyone going near the nest. How many?"

"About six, I think," said Bodie. "They were both in a very combative mood so I didn't linger. I'll miss you."

"You just missed Agnes," said Doyle. "And I'd be more touched by that if I couldn't depend on you to suddenly vanish for weeks on end at least once a month!"

"That's different, I like to know you're here. So what's the news from the Hall?"

"Well," said Doyle, "Agnes isn't speaking to you. Moretta turned up looking like a young Morticia Addams with a backpack, started to quarrel immediately with Toby, so she's left them to it. He was just lying about moaning and driving her mad. I suspect Miranda's fine Italian hand in this."

"Probably," said Bodie. "She told me she thought Ditta was wet and she didn't want a wet sister-in-law. Ditta's secretly engaged to the lad who is in line for the estate next door in Virginia, name of Randolph. Her mother doesn't like him as he is old money and Episcopalian. I thought Moretta was on her way home to Virginny?"

"So did her mother," said Doyle, "she diverted on the way. Jack says he will come and visit you while I'm gone."

"Of course," said Bodie. "So Agnes can't reach him and demand he takes a firm stand on anything."

oOo

In his room at Claridge's Hotel, London, Doyle put down the phone and glared at the clock: 11.30 p.m. Where the hell was Bodie? Even the Brewers must have closed by now, he'd had ample time to walk, or more likely stagger, home.

Hang on, wasn't it the last Hunt meet today? Maybe he should ring Casualty, very depressing the way they instantly recognised his voice. If the bastard had broken his neck it could only be a fitting end to a lousy day. He'd nearly died of claustrophobia in Harrods book department, although they had given him an excellent lunch - hadn't been able to find a thing wrong with it. The book seemed to be selling well, pity about the people who were buying it. Give Bodie another five minutes, he could be checking up on the lads in the stable.

He rang the number again, the phone was picked up then, by the sound of it, dropped on the floor, followed by a shriek of girlish laughter.

A groggy voice said, "Parsons..."

"Bodie!" said Doyle. "Why is a strange woman cackling in my kitchen at 11.50 p.m.?"

"It isn't," said Bodie. "Just Bunty, she brought me home, says sorry about the gatepost just a chip off, you'll hardly notice."

Want to bet? thought Doyle. He sighed. "Put her on."

"Hello, Ray!" Bunty whooped. "Did you have a good evening?"

"No," said Doyle. "What's the matter with Bodie? Drunk?"

"No, no, we had to give him a tetanus injection, it made him wobbly so I brought him home. Jack is minding Piper, he couldn't ride back."

Count to ten, Doyle instructed himself.

"Bunty, why did he have to have an injection? Was he bitten by a rabid ferret?"

"No, he ran into some wire, we had to put six stitches in his thigh. Judkins had left loose wire all over the place, we... Don't you dare have a drink!" she yelled suddenly nearly bursting Doyle's eardrum.

"Ray, did you manage to get me a programme?" she continued.

"Yes," said Doyle, wearily, "and he signed it. Bessie and an ancient beldame we met there cornered him in a pincer movement. I'll tell you all about it. Put Bodie on, will you? Thanks for looking after him."

 

"...ruined my best breeches too," continued Bodie vaguely. "Did you have a good time?"

"No, I did not. You know how I feel about Wilde's one-liners, and now Bessie and a fellow crone - they were 'Debs' together - are running up a big bar tab for me downstairs. Now listen, settle down on the sofa. there's a good lad, you can't expect Bunty to heave a lump like you upstairs."

"She's managed before," said Bodie.

There was a silence.

"Yes, you're going to regret that," said Doyle cheerfully. "Goodnight, Bodie."

oOo

"Hurry, it's almost on," called Mrs Acton.

Agnes watched bemused as the procession made its way to the staff sitting room, even Mr Middleton and Eccles from the gardens were included. Gwennie was in the lead carrying a large iced cake, followed by Iris with a bowl of trifle. She returned to the library where Jack was coaxing the television into life while Bodie poured the drinks, distributed peanuts, cheese and Bath Olivers, and wished he were somewhere else.

Bessie settled herself comfortably on the sofa, with her distance spectacles and knitting.

"I will have a sidecar, William," she commanded.

Bodie looked dubiously at the array of bottles on the side table. "Would you settle for a gin and tonic?" he suggested.

"This isn't Claridge's Bar, mother," said Agnes.

"I'm so looking forward to seeing Ray," Bessie went on. "Daphne thought he was a pet, so much nicer than her Edwin, even if Edwin did settle our bar bill. He came in, looked at the nice young barman and said, 'Well, how much have they had?' You could tell the young man was shocked. Then Edwin just hauled Daphne out to his Rolls. Not a gentleman. Did you speak to Ray last night, William? I hope he isn't nervous."

"Yes," said Bodie shortly. "It's not Ray who's going to be nervous."

"Not happy, eh?" said Jack.

"Definitely not," said Bodie.

"Are the young ones not joining us?" asked Bessie.

"They have gone into Cheltenham to buy a fondue set," said Agnes grimly. "Miranda is on the 'thing' sending e-mails."

"Do we need a fondue set?" Jack inquired.

"She," said Agnes, "says every kitchen should have one."

"I think that's very significant," said Bessie. "Good, it's starting. Oh dear, I don't think Ray will take to that young man."

"It's all right," said Bodie. "I mentioned that his mother opens her garden for charity, that should save his life. Oh God..."

Doyle was looking about with a bright, shark-like smile.

"I think I'll go and take a look at your mare, Jack," said Bodie. He left the room.

"Oh dear," said Bessie, "He's afraid someone will be unkind to Ray and he cannot bear to watch."

Everyone looked at her with incredulity.

"Poor Will," said Agnes.

 

"Well," said Jack pensively, into a shell-shocked silence, "it could have been worse."

"Yes," said Agnes, "Ray could have been slaughtered in front of our very eyes - that man was really annoyed."

"Book's bound to sell now," said Jack, "if only to see how rude he is in that! Hello, Will, it's all over."

"Heard all about it in the kitchen, better than a play Mrs Acton said. They are back from Cheltenham, Moretta is discussing better cupboard management with Mrs Acton."

"Is she!" said Agnes. "Jack! You are to put that hussy on the next plane home. I'm determined Toby is going to marry Ditta!"

The door had opened and Miranda made an entrance. "Not a good idea," she said. "They frown on bigamy. Randolph and Ditta were married by special licence yesterday. I've given them our best wishes etc..."

"Oh hell" said Agnes.

 

"You," said Bodie as Jack drove him home, "are on Moretta's and Toby's side."

"Right," said Jack. "Decided when that creep from Paris was on the phone organising another trip over here - he has an Oxford degree but forgets all his English when negotiating terms, had me in knots. I spotted Madame Moretta passing. 'Here girlie,' I said, 'you speak French?'. 'Of course,' she says. I tell her the problem, pass the phone over, she goes off like a train. Not only had all the answers off pat but demanded it all in writing before we okayed the deal. Pierre sounded quite shaken when I was back on, asked could he meet her!

"Seems she speaks four languages, not counting Irish, and has done every catering course going. I took her round the estate with me. She wanted to know about everything so I told her all our problems. I had to point out that ritually dismembering the County Planning Officer might go down like a bomb in Ulan Bator, but wasn't acceptable in Campden. Pity. She even went over the books with Mervyn and had a chat with Mrs Acton - seems she has even done a course with Mrs Allen at Ballymaloe, the staff were very impressed with that. She'll do, I thought, just need to persuade Agnes and her mother. I don't think Declan is very interested."

"Good luck," said Bodie. "You could have a chat with Mrs Fitzgerald. She has a lot of influence on Declan."

"Give that girl a few years," said Jack, "and she will swan down our staircase looking like Tamara, Queen of the Goths. What did you think of Connie?"

"I thought she needed her straw changing," said Bodie, "which I did. It's about time you found a better stableman."

 

"You sound sleepy," said an indignant voice.

"It's 2 a.m., Ray," said Bodie, rubbing his eyes.

"Is it? My publisher took me out to dinner. Did you see the programme? I thought I did rather well. You did watch?"

"The first three minutes," said Bodie, opting for the truth because he was too tired to lie. "I couldn't stand the suspense so I went to the stables and chatted to Connie."

"Typical," said Doyle. "You'd rather chat to that flea-bitten grey than listen to me. Are you still awake?"

"Just," said Bodie. "I heard you eviscerated some poor sod."

"He was a prat," said Doyle briskly. "They do a very good dinner at the Ritz, " he went on. "Garden chap was with us, he was very informative on pests so I told him all about mine, except you of course. We had champagne!"

That explains it, thought Bodie, longing to get his head down.

"You don't sound very interested," said an accusing voice.

"No, at this moment, I just want to go back to sleep. You are at the hotel?" Bodie inquired anxiously.

"Of course I am, just don't feel like turning in yet. Pity you're not down here. Don't you dare put the phone down on me! Have they moved that rubbish yet?"

Bodie looked at the phone. Only Ray would...

"No!" he said and slammed down the phone.

oOo

The next morning Bodie decided he had better take a look at the 'rubbish'. Ray was right, it did appear to be growing - perhaps the nearby shed was acting as a wind tunnel driving more and more in. He looked at the shed with disapproval, they had kept meaning to 'do something' about that. What the hell was inside?

On forcing the door he found a dead washing machine, half a bicycle, a completely unknown, heavily damaged, garden roller, and a mantelpiece he vaguely remembered Ray having ripped out shortly after they moved in, saying its mock marble tiles put him in mind of a whited sepulchre and it didn't 'fit' the place. He had then remodelled the parlour anyway. So why was it still here?

Bodie pondered then, mind made up, went back into the house and called Jack's estate manager, Mervyn Halliwell.

The phone was answered by one of his many daughters.

"Hello, Freeman," said Bodie, "is your father there? I'd like a word with him."

In the background he could hear the happy chatter of the girls, and surely that was Jack saying, "Now have some nice chuckie, there's a good girl."

"Good morning, Mr Bodie," said Mervyn. He sounded tired.

"I'd like the phone number of that firm that cleared the pig sties and rubbish at the Hall," said Bodie. "There's a job here that needs doing."

"Right, just a minute. Here we are. I always keep it by, they do a good job. Lord Bicester says can you meet him at the Brewers at eleven?"

"Yes," said Bodie, "but what's he doing in your kitchen at eight a.m?"

"Getting food into Isabella, he's better at it than I am," said Mervyn.

When Bodie arrived at the Brewers, having arranged business to his satisfaction, he found Jack with two glasses in front of him, looking desperate.

"Yours," he said, passing one over. "I had to leave home this morning, Agnes and Missy - I can't keep calling her Moretta - are at it hammer and tongs. They can't live with us, the next county would be best. Declan's coming to give the bride away, finally, just insists he brings Mrs Fitz with him."

"I can just see it in Gloucester Life," said Bodie grinning, ''the bride's mother was absent and the bride's father was accompanied by his long-time mistress."

"Agnes says at least one woman will be well-dressed," said Jack. "And she'll keep him in order. Do you know Missy pointed at Mervyn's house yesterday and said, 'that will do for us'. I lost me temper and said, 'Listen girlie, that's the home of my estate manager, his wife and five delightful daughters. I'd rather you two emigrated to Siberia than move him'! She seemed stunned. She's already had a set-to with Middleton over her giving him orders."

"They could have the Dower House," Bodie suggested. "The one with the up-and-over-the-roof ivy. Look, I have to leave now, I'm expecting a skip!"

Bodie made it home fifteen minutes before the skip and Mr Billings arrived. He was informed that, thanks to a local job being suddenly cancelled, he could expect the demolition crew at eight a.m. next morning. They hung the skip with red lanterns, with two notice boards to alert motorists of a possible obstruction. He wondered, knowing his neighbours, if he should stand guard all night over it, then shrugged. With luck no one had noticed its arrival.

The phone rang, it was Jack. "When are they coming? I'll be over with Miranda," he said happily. "We'll bring some beer."

Bodie could hear Ray's voice: Why don't you sell tickets and have a party? Well, why not? He felt rather down. By six a.m. he had posted the signs and was sitting on the farm wall guarding the skip and drinking tea, just in time to head off the Jenkins boys who were purposefully pushing a piano towards him. He was just saying, "No way," firmly when the vicar joined them, trug filledwith mushrooms in hand.

"A piano!" he said, "let me try it." He opened the lid and went into a hot version of Hold that Tiger, while Idwal Jenkins did a fast shoe shuffle.

"Just what we need," said the vicar. "Now if you would be so kind as to push it towards the church hall, I'm sure my wife will give us all a good breakfast."

Bodie, now prepared for anything, settled back on his wall with a bacon sandwich. It looked like a warm summer day too...

 

Mr Billings and his gang arrived at eight, followed closely by Jack and Miranda lugging a beer crate. They were greeted with cheers.

"I left the car in the village," said Jack. "They are arguing about who sits where at the reception now! Any breakfast left?"

"Help yourself," said Bodie. "Just bring me some more tea out."

The rubbish was removed quite quickly. Ray had been right; there were two small oak trees. Bodie rescued them, sure Ray would want to give them a good home.

"Now then," said Mr Billings, looking into the shed with the air of a man who has seen it all.

"Sure there's nothing you want in here?"

"Yes," said Bodie, "but let me know when you get past the garden roller, I'd like to see just what's back there."

"So when are you off to Dublin then?" Jack inquired as they watched.

"I have to go over next week to sort out Uncle Terence's estate now we have Probate. I'll meet up with Ray and with luck have some time off, then down to the Curragh."

"Ray quite happy about it then?" said Jack.

"I don't know, haven't told bim yet."

Jack looked at him appalled. "He'll kill you! Why haven't you told him?"

"The right moment didn't arrive. I started to tell him at Uncle's funeral, then... Well, then he was too worried about this book tour so I put it off." Bodie shrugged.

"Decent of Ray to go to the funeral with you," said Jack. "I gather he and Professor O'Brien got on well."

"Yes, they talked gardens and books for hours together, enjoyed each other's company."

"Oh, hell!" said Jack, "look who's arrived!"

Toby and Moretta were approaching.

"Morning, pops," said Moretta.

Jack herded them into a corner. ''Now listen, Missy," he said, "one word about your blasted wedding, reception etc. and you can go right back to the Hall, I'm not having you two spoil a good day. And don't call me pops!"

"Right," said Moretta. "We are bored with it too. Toby, go and buy two pounds of best ham, and two large loaves."

"But..." said Toby.

"Then," said Jack looking at the gathering crowd, "you can nip to the Brewers, ask them to deliver another crate of beer. Off you go now."

Miranda came off 'skip watch' carrying three dolly pegs which she carefully stowed in the farm porch. Seeing her father's look of inquiry she said, "For the Victorian Laundry..."

"We don't have one," said Jack, bemused.

"We will for next year's opening."

"Where's the kitchen?" Moretta inquired.

"I'll show you," said Miranda. "Come on. All right to dip in the fridge, Uncle Will?"

"You can eat everything but Ray's ducks," said Bodie. "And pick some tomatoes."

"We are going to need a trestle table," said Jack. "Ah good, there's Nettie."

The vicar's wife, who had arrived accompanied by the Jenkins boys, said yes, they had a trestle table and if she could use the phone... Bodie waved her kitchenwards and went on drinking beer.

"You're not lifting a finger then, Will?" said Jack grinning.

"I," said Bodie wiping bis mouth, "am providing the venue and the entertainment. I'd better dig out some wine, show Moretta the store cupboard."

In the kitchen an entranced Miranda heard Nettie saying, "Nonsense, Theo, you can leave your sermon for this morning. Now, get Jennifer off that sofa and send her down here with three fruit pies from the freezer, and about, oh, sixty paper plates. I'm sending the boys back for the trestle table."

By midday, they had the trestle table up and well loaded. People passing by said, "Oh, I can't stay," then sent their young off for more food. Mr Billings and his men left off demolishing the rest of the shed, the later contents being unexciting, and joined them. Bodie counted heads; twenty-four, not bad at all. Ashley and his young lady arrived with two pints of cream, Nettie's Jennifer, who'd come trailing clouds of despondency, cheered up, and everyone settled to enjoy their meal.

Jack stood up. "As you may know, my son is going to marry the young lady with him, and I'm sure you'd like to join me in drinking a toast to them. All the best, m 'dears."

Toby, blushing, got to his feet. "Thanks, dad," he said and sat down again hurriedly as they were toasted.

"Also, we must thank Mr Bodie," said the vicar, "for having us here. All the best in your new career, Will."

"Mr Doyle will be pleased," said the vicar as the last of the debris was removed and the yard hosed down. "We can get three tables in here now for our open day."

Bodie prayed this would be so. For the moment he'd just tell Ray the rubbish had gone. Mr Billings distributed his business card, arranged to see Jack about the Dower House shortly, collected his cheque and departed.

"Have to be off now, Will," said Jack. "I think Toby is down the garden showing Moretta the ducks. Send them home when you've had enough. Still, she was all right today. And here they are."

They thanked Bodie for a lovely day, and could they have two ducks for the Hall lake?

"Better ask Ray about that," said Bodie. "I don't know who he thinks ought to leave home."

He waved everyone off and went back inside to release Amos and Sam, who had been caged up most of the day.

oOo

At the Hairy Lemon Wine Bar, off Grafton Street in Dublin, Doyle peered into his glass with disbelief. Why had he ordered this mini orchard? In the spirit of adventure, or had he been too befuddled after a morning's signing to comprehend what he was doing?

What had that woman meant when she had said he did not resemble the photo on the dust-jacket? Older? Plainer? Maybe it was taken when he had his beard. That hadn't lasted long, Bodie kept complaining it was like kissing a hamster. And where the hell was Bodie anyway? Was he up to something? From the moment he had met Doyle off the plane, sober, in his best suit, with two theatre tickets, and the news that the rubbish behind the garage had finally been cleared leaving Doyle at least five square yards of garden more to play with, Doyle had immediately become suspicious - even more so after a good dinner, which Bodie had paid for.

He ran over the possibilities - Bodie was out on bail after being found drunk in charge of a horse, or lost his shirt on a slow horse at Fairyhouse? No, he had paid for the dinner. Something had happened he was afraid would worry his partner? Most unlikely; when had Bodie ever worried about his partner's feelings? Gallivanting about on horseback in peril of life and limb, drinking with disreputable companions at the Brewers, leaving him alone the previous evening at the end of the first act to find more entertainment in the bar - a wise move Doyle conceded. Slipping off to Ireland to career from one orgy to another while he, Doyle, stayed home writing his socks off to keep a roof over their heads and save their village for posterity. Pity he'd landed himself with a partner with as much civic awareness as a pot of jam.

Maybe he was in the wrong bar. "It's the wrong time, and the wrong place, though your face is charming, it's the wrong face," he found himself crooning, then: 

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded as the light of his life appeared before him.

"I hope you haven't ordered an allotment for me," said Bodie, looking at Doyle's drink.

"You can buy your own drinks," snapped Doyle.

Bodie returned with a Jamieson's whiskey. "You have had a bad morning," he stated. "I thought you liked Clerys."

"I do, when I'm not signing books there. This woman said I didn't look like the photo on the  
dust-jacket."

"Don't you?" Bodie shrugged. "I don't think I've noticed it."

"You're late," said Doyle, reverting to his prime complaint. "So what are we going to do this afternoon?"

"Well, we could..." Bodie began.

"No! We will go to the Botanical Gardens. I want to buy some plants and I need you to carry them for me. The fresh air will sober you up for dinner tonight at the college with Phil and Marion. That will be a surprise for them."

 

"You won't believe it," said Doyle as they tramped round the gardens in the rain, ''your cousin Oonagh was in the queue and she had bought the book. Said she was up in Dublin getting her cholera jab. Her husband would like her to go out to Egypt and see his dig. He's found something really exciting, he said."

"He would," said Bodie. "How are you getting that lot on the plane?"

"I'm not. Apparently they can ship direct from here, so I'll send the lot to Alice Heaton. Stick in a box of Dirty-faced Mollies for her, she loves them, and she will keep 'em going for me. By the way, you can stop behaving like Goody Two-Shoes, Bodie. I want to know what it is you are not telling me! Let's go and have tea and a bun."

One look round the crowded tea-room told Doyle it was no place to conduct a really good row, unless you wanted an audience of sticky-faced brats and their keepers.

"Oh God," he said, "let's get back to the hotel, at least it's dry there."

 

"Now," said Doyle as they entered his room, "I'll make coffee while you work on your story, and if you must lounge on my bed, take your boots off."

Bodie waved a socked foot at him.

"Let's have it then," said Doyle, opening hostilities. "Are you out on bail, had serious financial reverses - no, you paid for dinner last night - or..." his tone altered, "...fallen in love?"

"No," said Bodie, "to the first two, and not since you to the last."

"Cut the blarney," said Doyle. "What am I not going to like?"

Bodie prayed silently a moment then said, "Not much to tell. When I visited Uncle Terence last September, he said there was a vacancy for a lecturer in military history at the Staff College and he thought I ought to apply for it and stop messing about. You know how he went on..."

"Yes," said Doyle. "I'm going to miss visiting him, but it was a good way to go - having an argument with your best mate, reaching up for a book to really scupper him, and your heart going bang. Any idea what's happening about that book he was working on? How far had he got?"

"Eight chapters," said Bodie, "the rest sketched out. Professor Ross would like to finish it. I'm the literary executor, so I have to decide."

Doyle blinked. "He must have been mad! Get back to the subject, Bodie!"

"Well, I said rubbish, I can't do that, and he said have you bloody tried, William? So he arranged for me to go down and try out for the job. Found myself in a room full of bright young officers, most wondering if I'd be a laugh, told myself they are just like a bolshy pack of drag-hounds and pitched in. After the first ten petrified minutes, I began to enjoy myself. So I asked to be considered, and I've been accepted. Remember they kept e-mailing me?"

"Indeed," said Doyle, "but you never told me what they were e-mailing you about! You never thought to consult me! You don't expect me to uproot myself and follow you to Dublin like a blasted camp follower, I hope?"

"Of course not," said Bodie. "It's not in Dublin, it's down at the Curragh."

Doyle looked at him, appalled. "Why is it down in that wilderness?"

"Because it's always been there," said Bodie. "It's Kildare, Doyle! Not Afghanistan!"

"Bloody place is infested with horses," said Doyle. "One of the attractions, I suppose. And what am I to do, sit at home with a candle in the window?"

"I will only be away part of every month," said Bodie. "I have reorganised the Hunt matters. Mervyn will take over as joint Master when I cannot get to meetings. Jos has a young cousin who will call and see to the horses in the evening so you won't have to do that. There is a daily flight from Dublin to Bristol..." He paused.

"I see," said Doyle. "You have organised the drag-hounds, the stables, your travel arrangements, but only at the last moment did you consider what I might have to say about you skiving off for months on end."

"I will not be off for months on end," said Bodie, with too obvious patience, "I'll be away a fortnight at the most. I'll have a decent bedsit at the college and eat in the Mess, so there isn't an accommodation problem. I will miss you."

"Nice try," said Doyle, "but I doubt that, surrounded as you'll be by dashing young officers."

"That," said Bodie, "was a very stupid remark, even for you."

There was a brief silence.

"I expect your Uncle put a word in for you," said Doyle. "What are they paying you - in pounds not the Toytown money they use here?"

Bodie shrugged and told him. "It's not bad at all," he said.

"No," said Doyle. "They're doing all right too, probably have to pay a real academic a lot more."

Bodie picked up his boots and left, slamming the door behind him. Doyle sat down on the bed and drank his coffee.

You would have the last word, Raymond, Doyle thought, and tonight you are having dinner at Trinity with Marion and Phil and your beloved, and you'd like to throttle each other. Oh God, what else can happen?

 

Doyle looked round Trinity College dining room. Dinner and wine had been excellent, he'd finally managed to detach himself from an admirer who had read all his books and insisted on discussing them in such depth that he now regretted writing most of them. 

Marion appeared at his side.

"Hello, Ray! I couldn't get over before. How are things back in Larton? Is the Earl still fighting dry rot and the leaky roof? What are you working on now?"

"Everything is fine at home. We are raising six ducklings and the garden's open for charity next month. Jack's just had two miles of roof re-leaded. I suppose you heard about Toby?"

"Indeed," said Marion. "Young Miranda has enrolled us as honorary Aunt and Uncle and we hear all. Charles broke the news to Winnie, by the way, if you are not au courant. She flung a teapot at him, he needed two stitches."

"Good for her!" said Doyle. "As to writing, I'm really stuck, want to try something new, but what? At this rate Bodie and I will end up sweeping the streets. How's the restoration business?"

"Excellent, we are doing very nicely and it's all thanks to you. If you hadn't asked me down to see the paintings, I'd never have met Phil. By the way, Agnes has come round. Malva sent a final warning. come home or you are disinherited. Moretta said shit, she was staying and marrying Toby. Overcome at the thought the girl was giving up all for her son, Agnes gave way. No one mentioned she has a sizeable trust fund from her granny!"

Doyle smiled. "I'm glad someone's having a happy ending."

He glanced across the room to where Bodie was in a small group. One man detached himself and came over.

"Watch this one," said Marion, moving away.

He looked back at Bodie, who made a quick throat-cutting gesture to him. Doyle then found himself accosted by a perfect stranger who seemed to be demanding he sell some books he had, the inference being that he, Doyle, would not appreciate them at all.

Doyle enjoyed being extremely unpleasant about all this and made his way over to Bodie.

"Come over to the window," he said. "Now, what's all this about books?"

"You got rid of Draper even quicker than I expected," said Bodie admiringly.

"Never mind that! What is it with these books?" He enunciated as to a four year old.

"Uncle. You are to have the pick of his library, with Ross, and help yourself to plants from the garden. He left me a letter, said you were always lusting after his Crown Imperials so he'd like you to have them."

Doyle sat down and blinked. "Oh hell, he shouldn't have. So that's why the vultures are gathering?"

"Yes. He said settling down with you was the best thing I ever did, and he wanted you to enjoy his plants and books."

Doyle blew his nose and went to look out of the window. After a while Bodie joined him and  
gave him a glass of brandy.

"Here! He had a good life, and left before it all turned sour. Look, Ray, I need you to help me sort things out and beat off the mob after his books."

"Truce then," said Doyle. "I thought you'd spent the last fortnight careering about on a horse!"

"Wish I had. Haven't set foot to stirrup for three weeks, it's driving me up the wall. I never want to see another solicitor's office!"

Doyle found himself patting Bodie's hand. "Don't worry, chuck, we'll sort it all out," he said.  
"I'll ring Halliwell tonight, see if he can get this tour moving quicker."

oOo

Doyle emerged from the chalet by the beach at Bray, a fortnight later, carrying his deckchair recliner. He looked with approval at the early morning sunshine, settled the chair in the best spot then, popping on his sun glasses, sat down to enjoy a carefree morning. The Higgins' chalet, which they now owned, was nothing like the miserable shacks he remembered from his childhood seaside holidays. It boasted decent sanitary arrangements, an efficient wood-burning stove, a gas-powered fridge, plus a large bed with a well-sprung mattress.

Nothing else we really need, thought Doyle.

The sound of crunching shingle came nearer.

"I hope you are bringing me a cup of tea," said Doyle.

"As ordered," said Bodie. "Warmed up early, hasn't it? Do you fancy a kipper?"

"Yes. I really deserve this, you know - for not murdering young Malcolm for a start."

"I thought his granddad would beat you to it," said Bodie, "for being such a pain about downloading those files for us. I'm sure Uncle would approve of Ross finishing his book, they spent thirty years arguing over the Bronze Age together."

"I liked him," said Doyle. "We had a very happy time sorting the books out. It was beating off the vultures that got to me. It was the last straw when I was rung at 4.00 a.m. by a cretin demanding a book he was sure I must have! I was very rude," he added happily.

"Wonder who that was," mused Bodie, perched on a rickety table looking at the sea.

"I understand from Phil it was the Bursar. Apparently he is nocturnal, never been seen in daylight. I must get a decent present for Agnes. If she hadn't volunteered to move into our place and run things, I couldn't have stayed on and enjoyed my second honeymoon here. Bloody improvement on the first one, not a horse in sight."

"And I've taken off my 'L' plates too," said Bodie modestly.

At that moment a horse galloped along the beach and he watched it wistfully.

"You can stop going into a daydream," said Doyle. "First, where's my kipper? Second, what else do we need to do?"

Bodie returned from the kitchen bearing two plates of kippers, dumping one on Doyle's lap. He took a mouthful. "Not bad."

"We've passed all the papers and files to Ross for the book," said Bodie, checking off items on his fingers, "packed the computer and printer for me to take down to the Curragh, got an MoT for the Land Rover and treated it to four new tyres, but we still have to sign the papers transferring the house to Marion and Phil. Did the Crown Imperials arrive safely?"

"All planted," said Doyle. "Alice Heaton buried the hatchet with Agnes and put them in herself. They're iffy things if left out of the ground too long."

"Marion is delighted with the house," said Bodie. "She can have her own workroom there instead of hiring one in town. Thought she was going to weep on my shoulder. Uncle liked them both."

"And the college is taking the rest of the books off our hands," said Doyle with relief. "You could have got more for the house on the open market, you know. All right! Still, I like having this place. Bodie, have you got any paper to write on?"

Bodie went back indoors and reappeared with a large sheet of white paper.

"I had this idea at 2.00 a.m," said Doyle, "listening to a late night poetry programme on the radio. I made a note of the lines that struck me,

'If it were thine error or thy crime,  
I care no longer being all unblest,  
wed who thou wilt,  
for I am sick of time, and I desire to rest.

Then forgot my idea, it's just come back!"

He started scribbling furiously, pausing at intervals to devour his kippers. "What the hell was this paper wrapped around?" he asked suddenly.

"Only the kippers," said Bodie. "I'll get a large pad for you when I get the groceries this morning."

"Great," said Doyle. "Why don't you go off on a horse this afternoon?"

"I intend to."

oOo

Doyle looked critically at the heavily-laden Land Rover. "I still think you should have scrapped this heap, and bought a new car," he said.

"This," said Bodie, "is a car of character. It's travelled to every major archaeological dig in Ireland, could write its own thesis. Besides, I'm not driving anything dainty down those country roads."

"I feel like someone packing their young off to boarding school for the first time," Doyle complained. "Still, at least I wiIl know where you are."

"You're feeling better about it then?" asked Bodie hopefully.

"I've been considering the good points. First, I'll know just where you are. Second, you will not be getting paralytic with Jack at the Brewers - he's going to miss you. Third, you will not be spending the rest of the time crashing about on a horse," He paused thoughtfully. "Do they have stables down there?" he inquired.

"Of course," said Bodie lightly. "But I won't have a horse there, couldn't ask the owld fella to come over at his time of life."

"No, of course not," said Doyle. He looked at his companion keenly; the candid blue-eyed gaze did nothing to allay his misgivings.

oOo

"I am afraid Mr Doyle is not available at the moment, Mr Halliwell," said Agnes.

Doyle, sprawled on his sofa nearby, raised a glass to her in salute.

"Just how far from the telephone is Mr Doyle?" Halliwell inquired in the tone of one who has heard that before.

"He is in the greenhouse, potting," said Agnes. "He insists I do not disturb him."

"Very well, please tell him that if he does not return my calls, or answer the numerous e-mails I have sent, I shall be down in person, bringing Muriel too. What a pity Mr Bodie decided to go off and better himself. Thank you, Lady Bicester."

Agnes replaced the phone. "I gather he would like to hear from you," she said. "Don't you ever answer your phone?"

"No," said Doyle, "it could be someone I don't want to talk to!"

"For instance?" she inquired.

"Everyone."

"Suppose it's William?"

"He rings at night. I'm not taking his calls either, leaving me at the mercy of idiots who ring up wasting my time."

"Oh dear," she consulted her watch, "Jack should be arriving soon. It's been wonderful here what with constant hot water and being away from the wedding. You know, Mrs Redfern was saying to me, she didn't think Moretta would really suit a wreath of roses in her hair, then I heard this drunken woman saying 'No, snakes would be better'. It was me, after too much gin. Jack said 'I think you'd better go and lie down, dear', then your call came, saved my life! Do you really use Will as a buffer between you and everyone else?"

"Of course," said Doyle. "It's his only useful function, other than that he's purely ornamental. I think this will be your desperate husband."

Jack entered. "Are you packed, gal? Thank God, I couldn't have stuck another day without you to referee. Hello, Ray, any tea?"

"I'll get it," said Agnes. "Did Mr Billings look at the Dower House?"

"He did, said he had never seen anything like it, and we had better get the ivy off first to see if there is a roof underneath."

"Why did I ask?" said Agnes. "I'll leave you the paperbacks, Ray. Give Will my love, when you do speak to him. Hurry up, Jack."

"No rush, I'm taking you to the Wishing Well for dinner. We deserve some time together before the roof falls in."

"Not an happy metaphor," said Agnes, "but a very good idea."

Ray waved them off. and returned to his kitchen. He ought to take a look at those e-mails, no they could wait a while longer while he went back to the book. What was he going to call the damn thing? A Wreath of Roses? No, it was soggy enough already and, talking of roses, where had he put the David Austin catalogue?

He was just refining his 'wanted' list from forty to a more manageable sixteen when the phone rang. Who would have the nerve to disturb him? He picked it up.

"Hello, Bodie. What happened to my shed?"

"Why," asked an amused voice, "do you want it back?"

"No, I didn't notice it was gone for a while, kept thinking why is the yard so much bigger? Then found we were short a couple of tons of provisions and six bottles of wine. I gather you had an orgy while I was slaving away on the book tour."

"What with the vicar's wife it was a very select do, graced by a Peer of the Realm, and sundry others."

"So I heard, among them the Jenkins boys, our local equivalent of Frank and Jesse James, and your girl-friend, Mrs Armitage. How did she get down here?"

"Jenkins Minor collected her in their delivery van. She arrived in triumph with a load of cabbages."

"Agnes has just left. I came home to find our bathroom smelling like a brothel and a great pile of Cartlands by the bath. She says it isn't fair all Barbara's wimpy heroines end up with rich Earls. I suppose life is one long booze-up with you now?"

"It is not! To start with, the nearest pub is forty miles away. We do have a bar, but heavy drinking by the staff is frowned on for not setting a good example. It's like living in a military monastery – my evenings are spent crouched over my students' papers trying to read their appalling handwriting, and doing my notes for the next day. For excitement I read a good book, or try to find a four for Bridge. If I didn't get out for a gallop most mornings, I'd go stir crazy."

"You have found a horse," said Doyle with resignation.

"Yes, one of the other lecturers broke his leg so I'm exercising his hunter."

Doyle chuckled. "I bet you haven't worked this hard in years! Serve you right abandoning me, and for goodness' sake ring your bank manager! I keep getting poignant calls from him about your overdraft."

He could almost hear Bodie counting to ten. "Are you still with me," Doyle inquired politely.

"Just. I'm wondering why I bothered to ring. What are you going to do with the extra space?"

"Thinking of a corridor of climbing roses over an arch down the garden. Should look great in a few years. Bunty's coming over to help me on the stall on our Open Day. I'm also hosting the home-made toffee stall. So, what are your students like?"

"Gentleman cadets," said Bodie. "They can be divided into three sections, those who can write reams of stuff, but can't think, those who can think but resent having to put it down on paper, and those who can do neither and think I'm a soft option."

"Ah, said Doyle. "In for a nasty shock, are they?"

"Yes," said Bodie grimly. "If it wasn't for Alec sending me a batch of books to review and having Pip's horse to ride, I'd be stir crazy. You can tell him he saved my sanity."

"Did Alec mention me?" asked Doyle suspiciously.

"No, why should he? Oh God, Ray what's got up your nose now?"

''None of your business," said Ray. "Why didn't you remind me you had a history degree? Could have saved me a lot of work, might even have got into the British Library."

"Might, " said Bodie. "Why are you not speaking to Alec?"

Doyle slammed the phone down.

To his intense annoyance Bodie did not ring back to placate him. A very slow week passed.

oOo

"There you are!" said Agnes, pouncing upon Doyle as he sat in the Wishing Well cafe, gazing sadly at a slice of Bakewell pudding with cream. "You're not answering your phone again."

"Right," said Doyle. "Would you like some of this, I seem to have ordered in a moment of confusion?"

"I'll just get a cup of coffee and some parkin then we can go halves, much more interesting."

She returned and carefully divided the cakes.

"Ray, please come to the wedding. Frankly I intend to get plastered at the very start and stay that way, so someone sensible needs to be on hand, especially as Charles has decided to come in spite of not being invited. William has compassionate leave and will be flying over, hopefully sober. The food will be excellent - Mr and Mrs Dakin and their staff are doing the catering."

Doyle agreed the Wishing Well's owners were masters at that.

"Does Bodie know Charles will be there?" Doyle inquired.

"William," said Agnes primly, "would not murder bis brother at bis nephew's wedding - at least, I hope not."

"I'll come," said Doyle. "It would be a shame to miss that, and I have a bone to pick with William!"

"Oh good," said Agnes.

oOo

"She looks just like a Byzantine princess," said Miranda in awe.

"Have to agree she does," said Doyle. "Is that your mother's tiara glinting away?"

"No, it's her own. Where is Uncle William?"

"Plane's probably crashed with no survivors," said Doyle gloomily.

"Nonsense!" said Mrs Fitz. "My nephew owns that airline, his planes never crash!"

Doyle, in a pew with the ladies - Bessie was having a quiet weep - felt his mind starting to go. He had felt eyes boring into bim before he turned and found Mr and Mrs Halliwell in the pew behind.

About par for the course, Doyle decided, having heard that Mrs Fitz - Bertha to the family – had dressed the bride with Miranda after Agnes had thrown what her daughter described as a 'real old paddy' , and retired to lie down.

There was a shuffling in the pew behind. "Just in time, William," said Muriel Halliwell.

"Plane was late," said Bodie.

Doyle resolutely kept his mind on his prayer book and didn't look round.

 

"That went quite well," said Miranda as her brother, who appeared to have grown inches taller, led his stunning bride back down the aisle. "Apart from when the dear vicar said, 'Do you, Thomas Edward take ...' and dear Toby looked about blankly. I'll swear the bride dug him in the ribs! Here's Pa..."

"Miranda, you have the car list? Good. Doyle, you're taking Mr and Mrs Halliwell in your car. William too, of course. Miranda, as your mother isn't feeling well, take over at the house, will you?"

"Let's get moving," said Miranda.

She was, Doyle thought, turning into the sort of young woman who strides about the world telling people to pull their socks up, get a move on, and stop woffling about.

He turned to the Halliwells; Muriel was deep in conversation with Bodie. She was, Doyle suspected, besotted with him in a respectable way. Looking at his partner, trim in his uniform, well-scrubbed and not giving off his usual aroma of horse, stables and old malt, Doyle had to agree he was very fanciable.

Oh hell, he thought. I've still got it bad.

"My car is at the side," he said. "It's only a short drive to the house."

 

Doyle gazed round the Hall.

"Your dad's really pushed the boat out," he said to Miranda. "Where did you find those outfits for Iris and Gwennie?"

"The attics," said Miranda. "There's stacks of old linens up there, we have been starching and pressing all week. Mr and Mrs Dakin brought their staff, too. Mother's tiara went at Christie's last month. It will pay for this and the Dower house, we hope! Moretta has a much better one, so come a coronation she'll be ready."

"Agnes," said Bodie, "claims it was looted from the Winter Palace."

"Your sister likes a good story," said Doyle. "I see you managed to tear yourself away from Muriel Halliwell."

"No, Alec tore her away from me. Jack says I'm to stay with you and away from Charles."

"What a pity," said Doyle. "Just when I was hoping to have some intellectual conversation. What have you done with your cadets?"

"Left them plenty of work."

"I would not have known you'd be here if Agnes had not mentioned it," Doyle remarked.

"Thought I'd surprise you," said Bodie, deftly lifting two glasses of champagne from a passing tray. "Whose is the Jack Russell?"

Doyle glanced at the small dog escorting Iris and the tray. "No idea. You're always a surprise, Bodie, that's what worries me. Talking of which, wasn't that Colonel Heaton escorting the bride to the altar - I thought for a mad moment that Declan had shrunk."

"Quite right," said Miranda. "We couldn't sober Declan up. In the midst of sheer bedlam, with Moretta wanting to hurl a bucket of water over him, the Colonel arrived to book the hall for a bridge tournament, so we asked him would he take over as bride's father. He screwed in his monocle, looked at her, said, 'By Jove, yes', then dashed off to get his dress suit and Alice. Now, Uncle William, will you take Mrs Fitz in to dinner? Uncle Ray, would you take me? There, that's everyone sorted out."

"Charmed," said Doyle, offering his arm.

 

"Just the toasts to get through, and we can get off home," said Doyle happily. "Bodie!" He nudged his companion who was engaged in an in-depth cricket discussion with his neighbour.

"What?" said Bodie, vaguely surfacing.

"I said, we can get home early," Doyle enunciated clearly.

"Listen! After a month of spartan existence being a good example I'm looking forward to a party. Besides, I haven't had my fight with Charles yet."

"Restrain yourself, I spotted a reporter from Gloucester Life sniffing about, think of your cadets!"

"I'm trying not to, why don't you chat with... Well, perhaps not."

Doyle glanced at his neighbour who had said not a word through the meal, and was now counting the stones from his plum strudel over and over again in an agitated manner.

"Who?" enquired Doyle, "is that?"

"Don't worry, it's only Cousin Dessie... "

Doyle reflected that, in his experience, such assurances often meant the person should not be left near sharp knives.

"I'll give it an hour then," he said. "That should give you enough time to annoy people, then I'm off home and if you're not ready you can walk it!"

"Right." Bodie, unperturbed, went back to the Test results.

The speeches gave Doyle several gems to furtively copy into his notebook, everyone managing not to mention the bride's father lying off-stage with the D.T.s or her dear mother's absence. Toby made a very neat speech; Doyle was convinced his bride had penned for him, while Colonel Heaton was still enjoying having a proxy daughter - such a relief after five sons.

The floor being cleared for the dancing, Doyle looked about and found, as expected, Bodie had managed to disappear, so he went out to the stable yard to have a calming cigarette and assess his chances for a quick getaway. He was, of course, accosted by Jack.

"There you are," said Jack, "I wondered where you had got to. Any chance of you prising Will loose and taking him home? That red-headed woman is stuck to him like fly-paper, and he's already been very rude to Charles. I've started off the dancing in the Great Barn."

"I noticed none of your serfs were at the dinner," said Doyle.

''No reason to inflict my family and the bride's on them," said Jack. "They are having line dancing, why don't you look in? Iris said they were short of men, anyone would be welcome. Very good buffet served later."

Touché to you, thought Doyle

"Well, I wouldn't worry about Bodie, he's sure to find a welcoming bed somewhere," Doyle said.

''Not here, he won't, I'm full up. In no time this place is going to look like a field hospital with walking wounded."

"How's Agnes?" Doyle asked, by way of an olive branch.

"Laid out flat in the snug with her feet on a small dog. Looks like one of my damned ancestors on their tombs."

"That dog, "said Doyle, "is recurring like a leitmotiv. I've told Bodie he has an hour to express himself then I'm off, with or without him!"

Jack sighed. "Much as I dislike Charles, I don't want his blood on my freshly-cleaned carpets."

"All right," said Doyle, "I'll do my best."

As he re-entered the house he walked, by mischance, straight into Mr Halliwell.

"Ah, Mr Doyle, I've been hoping for a word with you. "

"Hell," said Doyle, "I wish you'd keep your wife on a leash."

 

"Everything all right, m'dear," Jack inquired of Miranda, who was busy policing the dancing.

"Yes, apart from Uncle Ray and Mr Halliwell having a colossal row in the corridor. He said, 'You're impossible, Doyle!' and walked off to speak to Mervyn at the barn dance. Uncle Ray said something else, then kicked a door. The car arrived, took Toby and party off to the airport. Colonel Heaton broke up a dispute between Uncle Charlie and Uncle Will. He took him off to the library for a chat and a drink and said it might be a good idea to have Ray take him home."

"My feeling entirely," said Jack

"Yes," said Miranda, "but Uncle Ray's already left."

"Oh dear," said her father.

 

Almost home, Doyle's better nature - or rather his apprehension about just what Bodie might do after finding himself abandoned - kicked in. Probably get a lift from some drunken sod, bad roads, dark, dark night... He'd be back visiting Intensive Care again. By the time Doyle had stopped and found somewhere to reverse the car, he'd buried Bodie in the local churchyard with full military honours. He'd like that.

Doyle knew champagne did this to him, but it didn't help and it was quite a relief when he got back to the Hall to find the party still in full swing and Bodie having a quiet drink and chat with Colonel Heaton in the library.

"Ah, Doyle," said the Colonel, "Alice would like you to call round next week to look over the garden."

"I'll give her a ring," said Doyle. "You ready, Bodie? Good night, Colonel."

''Thanks to you," said Doyle as they drove home, "I've gone and scraped my paintwork on a sodding wall, I have a bloody headache, then to crown everything, Halliwell has dumped me. If I didn't need both hands on the wheel, I would kill you."

"You missed a great party," said Bodie. He started to sing along to the car radio.

"Shut up!" yelled Doyle.

"You're going too fast," said Bodie calmly.

"I'm not!"

There was a very nasty crunch on what Bodie would have called the off-hind.

"Oh God!" said Doyle, stopping the car, "What have I run over? Bodie, would you go and look?"

"And do the mercy killing if necessary?" said Bodie acidly. He left the car. "It's all right, you haven't maimed anyone, but we have a flat. There's a lump of wire on the road. Got the spare with you?"

"Yes," said Doyle, through a red mist. "Would you change it - and don't speak to me for a while."

Bodie grinned, removed his tunic and tossed it to Doyle.

If only, thought Doyle, he wouldn't sing 24 hours from Tulsa. He absently cuddled the tunic; it reeked of Nuits d 'amour. - Muriel no doubt - then got out of the car to keep watch for early morning milk tankers.

"I was looking forward to you coming home," he said gloomily. "You're back five minutes and I'm surrounded by disaster. It was lovely and quiet without you."

"Dull too, I expect," said Bodie, now tightening nuts.

"Deadly," said Doyle. "I suppose that is dawn breaking on the horizon."

"I hope so. Come on, I'll drive, you look washed out."

oOo

Bodie put down the phone with a sigh of relief. A hard man, his commanding officer, and as a fellow Irishman immune to the blarney, but he'd managed - after pathetic references to an unspecified family problem - to have his leave extended.

Now to ring Alec. No, better to let that matter rest a while. I'll look in on Ray.

"Hello there!" yelled a cheery voice. Jack entered the kitchen, a cardboard box in his arms.

Bodie looked at him in surprise.

"I thought you'd be still sleeping it all off."

"Not me, glad to get out of the house today, still finding bodies in corners. There are four separations on the cards, Declan and Mrs Fitz one of 'em - she's furious with him. We're giving out the leftovers - the family can't face any food today, or the staff come to that. Half of champagne is in there. Declan was eyeing it and I thought, 'Oh no, not after all the trouble you caused'! I'm off to the Heatons now. You and Ray all right?"

"Fine," said Bodie, crossing his fingers. "He's sleeping at the moment."

"They asked me to thank him for the present," said Jack. "Delighted with it, they will be over to see him when they get back." He hurried off.

Bodie looked in the box, whistled, and went upstairs. Doyle was finally stirring.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Midday. Would you fancy an omelette with smoked salmon?"

"As long as you're cooking it. How?"

"Jack distributing gifts to the poor of the parish, leftovers from the feast. Half of champagne, too - we can drink it by the pond later."

 

Showered and ravenous, Doyle sat down to his breakfast.

"Not bad at all," he said finally.

"What did you give the newly-weds? Jack said they were delighted with it."

"Good. Voucher for an Alton's greenhouse. After seeing their jungle, I wished I could give 'em a JCB. Where are you off now?"

"Just down the garden. Come on, I've something to show you."

"Nothing I won't have seen before," said Doyle following him.

He stood gazing at Duckhaven floating serenely on the pond, George, Mildred and their two remaining ducklings swimming round it, quacking.

"What do you think of it?" asked Bodie proudly. "Bunty helped me get her afloat, that's why I was late at the church."

"I thought I just glimpsed a strange pair of wellies in the passage," said Doyle. "I do like the camouflage effect, regimental badge and motto. But how on earth...?"

"My cadets and Pip," said Bodie. "My ladies did the fancy paint job. I'd found this flat-pack kit, hopeless, none of us could understand the instructions. Initiative test for my lads, said Pip. They are army engineers, thrown bridges over all the local streams, quite bored with it all, we've done that, sir. Then a lad into birds said that size wouldn't accommodate two budgies, never mind mallards. So they scaled up the plans, found some material- we didn't ask where - two crates of beer later we had a mock up, tried it out on our lake, no problems at all, apart from having to rescue Phipps. Then they built the deluxe model for you. When I left they were taking orders for more. It is anchored."

"It's a very good job," said Doyle. "Will you thank them from George and Mildred? I must take a photo. How long will you be here?"

"Till the weekend, told the old man I had a domestic crisis here so he let me have extra time."

"Probably a common request after weddings," said Doyle cynically.

"Would you like me to speak to Alec?" Bodie asked.

"No, I would not. It was your fault anyway, fluttering round Muriel like an overweight moth to the flame. It...annoyed me."

"You don't want the hassle of having to find a new agent, " Bodie pointed out.

Doyle pondered a moment. "Have to admit I don't. I went through three before Halliwell, and two publishers, and it was your fault."

Yes, I know!" said Bodie. "Tell you what, let's leave it till everyone cools down, then I'll have a word with him - explain weddings always upset you."

Doyle brightened. "Temporary insanity brought on by the smell of orange blossom," he suggested. "What did you bring the champagne out here for?"

"So we can drink a toast to my lads and lasses and George and Mildred's new home."

"Nice, this," said Doyle as they sat by the pond. "Wonder if Agnes has sobered up yet."

"I neither know or care," said Bodie. "Just want to start enjoying my leave."

"It's not going to rain!" said Doyle. "Yes, it is. Hey, they've gone indoors."

"What happened to the rest of the family?" Bodie asked as George firmly ejected the two halfgrown ducklings from the family home.

"Village pond has two, I've arranged maximum security for them. Gould took two, he's enlarging his pond, expect he'll put a blue liner in it." DoyIe sniffed. "Then Jack wanted the last two, but I didn't want to leave George and Mildred childless."

"I think they'd like it," said Bodie. "Come on, let's go and eat some more of the 'leavings". I fancy an early night."

"You do have some good ideas. I'll put a sign Go Away on the front door."

 

"I've just noticed," said Doyle as they did the washing up, "the nights are really starting to draw in. I'm going to enter the vegetable class at the Show this year, I'm sick of seeing Dai Jenkins sweep the board every time. I looked at his last lot, my potatoes were just as good. Hey!" he gave Bodie a nudge. "Are you listening to me?"

"I was thinking of having a last look round the stable."

"Of course you were," said Doyle tolerantly. "Come on, we'll say goodnight to the dobbins and you can admire my vegetables! Must ring Jack in the week to say he can have the ducks."

Later he said, "Ah, everyone seems to have settled down. You've checked your horse over, so come on, let's get in, so ze Children of the Night can prowl in peace..."

 

"Suppose you wouldn't rather look over chapter five for me, would you?" Doyle yelled over the noise of the shower. "Hurry up."

"No, I would not," said Bodie. "Shall I draw the curtains?"

"Why? They'd need a telescopic sight and thermal imaging to see into our bedroom. Why are you all done up like a Christmas parcel? I know, you fell off that bloody horse!"

"I did not!" said Bodie. outraged. "It's just..." he stripped off, "...a few bruises."

Doyle looked. "How?"

"Would you believe an overly passionate lover?"

"No. Let's have the full story, the truth the whole truth, or as much as you can risk."

Bodie grinned and settled by his companion. "Picture," he began, "four respectable college lecturers driving home from Murphy's Bar after a convivial evening playing shove-halfpenny with the locals. As we passed the assault course, McKenzie said, 'I remember training on that thing,' then someone said, 'I wonder if we could still do it?'."

"I cannot imagine who that would be," said Doyle with resignation.

"Good. So we got out of the car and had a go. We did all finish apart from Hodges, who broke his arm. That wouldn't have mattered, we could have fixed it ourselves, but he wasn't keen on that so we had to wake up the medical section at 3 a.m. They were not pleased and shopped us to the old man. He lectured me for twenty-five minutes, pointing out I was there to instil knowledge, not to kill myself and induce others to do so etc. Why are we lying here bothering about that?"

"Dunno," said Doyle. "Run out of small talk already, I suppose. Maybe I should get chapter... er, perhaps not," he finished, noting with approval Bodie was showing signs of interest in another activity.

 

"Now that beats staying up watching the Late, Late Show," said Doyle, ignoring Bodie's protests to light up a cigarette. "You really have missed me."

"Keep telling you that!"

"You know, it's amazing really. You've only been there five minutes and you've already formed a group of middle-aged malcontents to terrorise Kildare. Poor Colonel St Leger, thinking he was getting a nice quiet history lecturer and ending up with the last of the Rakes of Mallow. My heart goes out to him. What are all those plaintive sighs for?"

"Just waiting for you to prove you missed me," said Bodie sadly.

"But I didn't. Stop that, you know I'm ticklish! Well, if you insist then..."

oOo

"You're back," said Doyle absently, then swore and crossed out five sentences.

"You missed me!" said Bodie.

"Hardly, you've only been gone four hours. Had a good ride?"

"Yes, have I missed anything?"

"Quite a lot. Bunty called for her wellies. She's going to help me with my exhibit at the show. Then Jack came for his ducks, so we all went to the pond to collect the little bastards. What a commotion - not from their parents, they wouldn't have cared if I was turning their young on a spit. Anyway, they were crammed in the basket so we all had tea. Jack was just leaving when Agnes called in distress - would I take a turn as a guide when they re-open next month as Mr Penrice has been eliminated by his doctor on grounds of stress, and Milly can't take any more groups."

"And you said...?" Bodie asked, fascinated.

"I said yes. Don't stand there with your mouth open, it doesn't do a thing for you. Thought it might be useful copy. Must look at the guide book and see what myths they are perpetuating now. I went last year, heard that Queen Elizabeth slept there. A neat trick - she died in 1603 and the house wasn't built tilt 1640."

"Rebuilt, in fact," said Bodie. "She stayed in the old house."

"What old house? No, don't tell me. And you are to ring that number, he sounded distrait."

Bodie glanced at it. "Oh dear. He sounded worried?"

"Very."

 

Bodie replaced the phone. "It seems my little group, having done all the work I left them, to their satisfaction - I doubt it will be to mine - started amusing themselves by winding up poor Hodges, who was trying to supervise them. I'd better go and pack."

"Hang on! What's the position with me and Halliwell? I need to know before you slope off."

"I rang him this morning, reminded him of your good points and what a simple, good-hearted chap you really are - and your books are selling."

"I am not!" said Doyle indignantly.

"Yes, he disagreed, then I told him weddings always upset you, because we cannot legalise our union."

"He never believed that!"

"No, but he said I deserved three marks for creative imagination, then after some chunnering, you are back on his books. It helped that Andrew's school report had arrived and was so bad it distracted him from you."

"He's quite a nice kid, Andrew," said Doyle. "Just prefers a social life to learning."

oOo

"I do wish Albert would stop staring at me like that," said Doyle, massaging a throbbing leg muscle.

"Look at him, just panting to be off again!" 

"I am seriously considering support hose," said Agnes. "My legs are killing me! Albert, dear, eat some more Winalot, there's a good dog, we just haven't your boundless energy. You know Missy was right, damn her, we didn't have the ahhhh factor till Albert joined us. Now they fight to go round in his group."

"The minute I get them all safely into the Barn for tea and buns, he's off like a rocket for the next lot!" Doyle complained. "When all I want is a smoke and a rest! Did you ever find out where he came from?"

"Mr Williams the vet checked him for any kind of ID, nothing. He had rib damage all down one side, probably hurled from a car - they do that round Gretton - so I had him vaccinated, microchipped and insured, and he is now on the staff as Albert Fanshaw (Jack Russell terrier). Oh dear, there's the bell!"

"Once more into the breach," said Doyle. "I'd better leg it, Milly will be getting nervous."

"Did I mention," Agnes said as they walked back through the Hall, "that Charles is back from  
Canada?"

"Hell! Bodie and I were hoping he'd gone for good."

"Didn't we all."

oOo

Doyle looked thoughtfully at his shorthand outline. Yes, that should take care of the problem. He was recalled to the Parish Council Meeting by a sharp dig in the ribs from Lizzie Stebbins.

"Mr Doyle," said Chairman Potter, "we can rely on you and Mrs Heaton to draw up plans for our project then?"

Just what had he missed?

"I'm sorry, could you go over it again? 1 was distracted by a personal matter."

"The designing of the garden round our new, enlarged, refurbished village hall - our Millennium Project. She kindly put your name forward to us, but she couldn't be at the meeting today."

"Grandchild," hissed Lizzie, "Arthur's and that odd woman - didn't expect that marriage to last."

"Ah," said Doyle, "I'll get in touch with her and sort things out. It sounds a good idea."

"Good, good," said Chairman Potter. "So all we have to do is to decide who will be at the meeting at the weekend with East Gretton and Lower Slaughter, to resolve all our little local differences. Mr Doyle, I'm sure you will be able..."

"I'm very much afraid I have to be in Ireland this weekend," said Doyle. "A family matter."

"William all right, is he?" Lizzie inquired.

"William is fine," said Doyle abruptly. He noted the looks of interest. By the time I get home, he thought, it will be all over the village that my marriage is on the rocks!

He left Mr Potter still twisting arms and rang Mrs Heaton when he arrived home. She apologised for putting his name forward without referring to him.

"But you know, Mr Doyle, that Mr Bradley wanted the job, and you've seen his garden - nothing but that awful decking."

"Well, his brother does sell the stuff." said Doyle. "We will sort out something much better. I'll start plotting it out as soon as I get back from Dublin. Before Lizzie the Mouth gets on to you, William is fine. I need to get away from the annual peace talks with Lower Slaughter!"

"Very understandable," said Alice. "Wasn't there a court case after last year's? I remember Lord Bicester made some very pertinent remarks from the Bench about grown men behaving like half-wits."

"That's it," said Doyle. ''Now, is there anything I can bring you back in the plant line?"

Alice said she'd be delighted to mind the dear creatures over the weekend. Bodie, on being rung about a mad passionate weekend at The Nook, said he would be happy to, but would be accompanied by a score of papers to mark. Doyle said he would have 'The Book' with him and they could eat out.

oOo

"I never thought we'd end up like this," said Doyle. "At The Nook, me scribbling away in glasses and you a semi-respectable lecturer. I heard from Frideswith that you passed your probation."

Bodie looked over in surprise. "Where the hell did you meet her?"

"Bewley's Oriental Cafe. She also said you had saved her sanity buying her husband's horse, which you haven't mentioned to me yet. What on earth does she teach?"

"Political science, my cadets are petrified of her. The combination of forty bangles with the logging boots does it. You had glasses when I met you."

"I did not! Well, perhaps I did. I wish you'd stop reading a page then sighing and making notes at the bottom. That's my stuff, remember. I don't need an in-depth crit. at this stage, thank you."

"No?" said Bodie grinning at him. "You shouldn't have given it to me then."

"All right. Good God, what's this one written in - ancient Etruscan? Your cadets go in for very creative spelling. Funny, isn't it, the ones that give you pages of beautiful typed stuff aren't worth reading, the ones you have to struggle through contain gems of thought. I think you are rather unkind about number four, it reads well."

"It's a cut and paste job. Cribs from all the best authorities with the odd sentence from himself. I have congratulated him on reading all the best books, just indicated some original input from him would help. Where are we eating tonight?"

 

"You're right about Dublin Bay prawns," said Doyle, ''these are good! I might even pick up the bill."

"That's a relief. Let's have another bottle of wine." Bodie hailed the waiter with conspicuous enthusiasm.

"What I want to know," said Doyle, "is how Frideswith recognised me and, worse, knows we are connected."

"You shared a publisher. There she was, years ago, quaking in his office, first book on her lap, when you emerged from the sanctum, not only hurling abuse back over your shoulder but also banging the door on your way out. She asked the man next to her, 'Who was that?' 'Oh, just Ray Doyle,' he said."

"Sounds like me," Doyle admitted. "Wonder when that was. And us?"

"I have your photo among the family groups on my mantelpiece. When she and Pip came round for sherry and biscuits, she honed in on it like an Exocet. 'That's Ray Doyle', she chirped, 'I met him once'. Pip did his best to distract her."

"I wonder she didn't compliment you on your stamina. Now what about this horse? You haven't mentioned him yet."

"I didn't think you'd be that interested in Achilles," said Bodie vaguely. "He's a big brown hunter, quite a good goer. So how's the stately home business, enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, rather. Listening to Agnes as she glares across at the Dower House hissing 'She will have full central heating and plumbing that works!'. If Toby and Moretta hadn't Bessie's flat let to live in, there'd have been bloody murder before now. Bessie's on the Riviera."

Bodie paused in mid prawn. "How...?"

"Remember that old bat we met at the theatre? Put her in touch with an old French flame. He rang up oozing gallic charm - sounded just like the man in the Cointreau advert, Agnes said. 'Come and spend the horrible winter months in my villa', he said - next minute she was packing.

"Agnes said, 'Mother, it isn't proper, he could be a fortune-hunter!' Missy said, 'Bessie hasn't got a fortune'. After that the conversation became rather lively, Jack said. Missy took Bessie off to London, sorted out some Riviera-type frocks and her tickets for the journey. We've had some exciting postcards from her."

Bodie chuckled. "Good on her. I noticed you've started a small compost heap at The Nook. Can I take it you're happier about things?"

"Let's say I've realised there are some advantages. I wish it didn't have that terrible twee name. You've got new dents on the car, collected on the way home from Murphy's Bar, no doubt."

"No, a cadet showing off side-swiped me with an APC right in front of the old man. He is up for careless driving and has to pay for the repairs. Murphy's is off-limits after an incident - landlord is furious, missing our trade. I wasn't there, before you ask. I was out with the Drag at the time. Ooops."

There was a silence.

"Does your C.O. know about this?" Doyle inquired.

"Of course. He thinks gentle exercise is good for me. Doesn't go out himself."

"Obviously," said Doyle. "They are letting you come home for the Christmas/Millennium bacchanalia?"

"Can't wait to get rid of us, according to Pip. Some may not be back, most of my lads were out with the Drag, but four of Pip's were in the fracas, and he's talking his head off to get them allowed back."

"Just high-spirited lads, as they say at the police court," said Doyle. "Did you hear Winnie is agitating for the divorce to be rushed through? She and Alistair are tired of waiting. Denis said that explains all those trips to Scotland. Very pleasant chap, was in the Black Watch. Charlie doesn't think it's funny, unlike every one else! Pass the dessert menu over."

oOo

"I can't stand much more of this," Doyle complained. "We've been waiting hours!"

"About twenty five minutes," said Bunty, glancing at her watch. "They do have to judge the cakes as well."

"How the hell do you tell one Victoria sandwich from another?" Doyle asked.

Happily, before several waiting ladies could enlighten him, the door opened.

"You can come in now, ladies and gentleman," said Mr Potter.

"Whee!" said Bunty. "You've a First!"

Doyle gazed at the red card, crushing down a desire to leap in the air going Yoweee!

Mr Jenkins came over. "Very nice display, Mr Doyle. Never gone in for salad potatoes myself, but I've gone as far as I can with Desiree. Going to try leeks for next year, very rewarding, leeks. Don't think much of the judging on the runner beans - have you seen who's won?"

"Er - no," said Doyle, not wishing to get into an in-depth discussion on judging - always a dangerous topic. "I'll just take a look round."

After a tour of the Hall, and a quick word with Ashley, whose exotic vegetables had won a class of their own, Ashley inquired had Mr Doyle heard about the market garden project young Mrs Fanshaw was starting? Doyle said no, he hadn't, but nothing young Mrs Fanshaw did would surprise him, then made his way to the refreshment room. He had just settled with a large mug of tea and a piece of parkin when Alice Heaton appeared.

"Mr Doyle, I've found a man who will give us a good deal on bark chippings, he's here now."

"Good," said Doyle, "let's sort it out."

After some brisk negotiation with Mr Sowerbutts, the problem of covering for the paths in the village hall garden was settled.

"That's a relief," said Alice. "Now we just need the builders to get a move on. Can't start till the building's up. Must make sure they clear up after them properly and don't pinch our topsoil. Our John has scaled up the plans for us."

"Let's have a drink to celebrate," said Doyle. "My win and finding several tons of good bark chippings. Wet your new grandchild's head as well."

"Malvina," said Alice. "Terrible name. The child looks just like her mother, too. How's William keeping? George says he looks so much better since he started working."

"Clearer-eyed anyway," said Doyle. "He'll be able to run amok over the Christmas/Millennium break."

"Pity we couldn't get the village hall refurbished in time for the Hunt panto this year," said Alice.

"I was delighted," said Doyle. "I'm still trying to forget last year's - nearly crawled out on my hands and knees when Bodie came on as an Ugly Sister!"

"Well, he was the only one who could get into the dress after Ed broke his ankle," said Alice practically. "I thought he did well."

"Yes, he enjoys making an exhibition of himself," said Doyle gloomily.

A child bustled in with a stack of leaflets. "Do I give one to everybody, granny?"

"If you must, Gladwyn," said Alice.

He promptly handed one to Doyle. "You get a very good lunch thrown in too, Mr Doyle," he said brightly.

"Thank you, Gladwyn," said Doyle. "My word, hot from the press. Bet this is Moretta's doing - French cookery and lace-making classes etc. in a stately home. Doesn't mention it's essential to wear full thermal underwear."

"No," said Alice. "I hear Mrs Redfern is doing the floristry course. Will you be at the C.G.S. meeting on Sunday? Kitty is demonstrating her floral arrangements."

"No, I'll be knee deep in my first draft. I'm saved from that. Must get over and see how Toby is getting on with the garden clearance too."

 

Toby looked up, then walked over as Doyle parked the van at the garden entrance.

"We were hoping you would come over and have a look," he said. "We need some advice." He peered into the foliage-filled van. "Hey, you've been to Tuckers!"

"Had to," said Doyle, gloomily, ''to cheer myself up. Finished the first draft of the book and it stinks. Quite understand now why Ned Lawrence came to leave his opus in a taxi - nearly threw mine in the bin. And I can't get hold of your Uncle Will, he seems to have slipped his chain and disappeared into the blue - probably on a horse somewhere with bloody Declan!"

"Can't be," said Toby. "My father-in-law," - said without enthusiasm - "is in the local hospital with a broken leg and cracked ribs. His horse fell."

"Oh, good! You're sure Bodie isn't tucked up in the next bed?"

"He didn't go out with them," said Missy, joining them. "Told Pa he had a prior engagement. Pa was quite miffed about it."

Odd, that, thought Doyle, missing a chance to break his neck over those damned banks.

"Shouldn't you be at your dad's bed of pain?" he suggested unkindly.

"God, no, Mrs Fitz can do that. What do you think of it?" She gestured at the garden.

Doyle stared. "It seems to have grown larger. I surmise those walls were concealed behind the bramble thicket?"

"Yes, we were going to bulldoze the lot, spotted a sort of pattern, then found this cobbled path. Come on, over here."

Doyle looked down. "Yes, that's a cobbled path all right, which disappears into the next thicket. I think you're right to go slowly."

"I'll go and get another flask of coffee," said Toby, "Show him the roses."

"Hum," said Doyle. "They need a heavy pruning with an axe and saw, then you can let me have some cuttings. We really need to get higher to see the whole layout." He looked about. "That seems a decent tree."

"Uncle Ray, do you think you should..."

"Definitely a pattern," Doyle yelled down. "Just need to edge out a little more..."

When he got his breath back, someone was kneeling by him babbling into a mobile phone.

"They are sending an ambulance," said Missy.

"Why? I'm just winded," Doyle complained. "Came down with a bump, didn't I?"

"Your left arm should not bend like that," she pointed out.

"Oh, shit! Feeling's coming back, too. What am I going to tell Bodie, when I find him?"

"Uncle Phil is sure to know where he is," Missy suggested.

"I don't want them to think I'm checking up on him."

"But you are."

Doyle gave her his best 'look' - it just bounced off. He sighed.

Toby arrived at a run. "Oh dear," he said, "Uncle Will isn't going to like this."

oOo

"You should not have been climbing trees at your age," said Miranda as she bustled about the kitchen. "If you had asked me, I could have told you Uncle William was at the seminar at Trinity. I asked him to get Professor Holmes' autograph for me."

"Who the hell...?" Doyle began. "Oh yes, the one with the horse! Doesn't bear thinking about, a place full of mad, ex-military types."

Miranda grinned. "Yes, they were asked to leave three Dublin pubs in the course of the weekend. Uncle Will said he really enjoyed himself. Oh, stop waving your broken wing at me, I haven't told him. Pity Missy is...er...or she could have gone up the tree. Not a word to mother!"

"Ah," said Doyle, "I thought so. Pour me a drink, love, and have one yourself. Sure you can get your dad to that airport tomorrow?"

oOo

Agnes looked up at her husband from her list-strewn table, "I think that's it for the moment," she said with relief. "Do remember you have to pick Will up at the airport tomorrow. He does know Ray cannot meet him?"

"Ray said he would let him know. I told him mother would not be back for Christmas as Andre would like her to meet his family. He says she has done a runner!"

"I can't think why, when she could be back here freezing," said Agnes, pulling her Husky jacket closer around her. "Instead she is forced to spend Christmas in a Mediterranean climate with all mod cons. By the way, Hermione will not be joining us this year. I must have given her the impression her Uncle Charles would be here with his lady, she doesn't approve."

"Oh, good!" said Jack heartily. "I remember her poisonous brats from last year. He's not really coming, is he?"

"Of course not! Can't think where she got the idea."

"Smart thinking, gel," said Jack. "We can have a really decent party now. Ray and Will, Toby and... Well, what about having that game with the bucket, duck apples? You remember. When was it?"

"Distinctly. It was Halloween, it took a month to dry out the carpet and it still smells. I often wonder whose teeth they were..."

"How did we...?" Jack inquired, fascinated.

"Oh, I just left them on that small table in the hall and next day they were gone. Come on now, you have to make an early start tomorrow."

oOo

Doyle, hampered by his arm cast, re-dialled the number for what seemed the two hundred and twelth time. He had left off ringing Bodie till the last moment - now the last moments were rapidly ticking away. To his relief the phone was finally lifted, he could hear a sort of subdued hammering, then a very cheerful voice wished him what he assumed was 'Good Morning' in Irish.

"Where the hell have you been?" said Doyle. "I've been ringing all night, the clot on the switchboard doesn't seem to have heard of you! And what was that you just said?"

"Ah, 'twas a blessing on your darlin' head," said Bodie. "I'm just back from our farewell party!"

"What's that hammering then?" asked Doyle with weary resignation.

"Just the neighbours. We had a hoolie in here too, probably upset they were not invited. I've just thrown the rest of the drunken sods out, apart from Pip."

"And yourself, of course," said Doyle. "God help them. Listen, I won't be meeting you at the airport." He said it slowly and carefully, aware now his partner was still on cloud nine.

"'And the best of all ways'," Bodie sang happily. "Why's that then? What airport?"

"God give me strength," Doyle prayed. "Bodie, is there anyone there who is not completely paralytic? If so, please put them on now!"

There was a sort of mumbling scuffle then: "Is that Mr Doyle?" a female voice inquired.

"Yes," said Doyle. "I think we have met - at Bewley's Oriental Café?"

"That's right, Frideswith Featherston. You won't get much sense out of Will, I'm afraid. He is supposed to be on a plane today?"

"Correct. I cannot meet him, but his brother-in-law will be there. Can you get that into his head, preferably with a mallet?"

"Now you are not to worry, Brian and I - my eldest son - can drive him into Dublin and settle him on the plane. I will try and get your message into his brain, it's difficult at the moment."

In the background Doyle could now hear two male voices harmonising The Young May Moon.

"Good party, was it?" asked Doyle.

"Indeed, it went on till 5 a.m. I was in bed by ten myself, with a good book. I woke early to drag Pip out of it, found they had set up another venue in Will's room, the neighbours were ready to lynch them. It's rather like a pressure cooker letting off steam here."

"Don't tell me any more," said Doyle. "I think I'll go back to bed."

 

"Can you see him, m'dear?" Jack asked plaintively as the crowds surged past them. "Everyone seems to be coming home for Christmas," he complained.

"There he is!" said Miranda. "Wrapped round a stewardess. Or vice versa," she added fairly.

"Better go and untangle them," said her father with relief.

"Uncle Will," said Miranda firmly.

"My niece," said Bodie. "Isn't she a stunner?"

Relieved she could leave him in safe hands, the stewardess hurried on her way.

"Luggage?" Miranda inquired.

Bodie looked about him. "Where's Ray?" he asked. "I've no idea. Woke up on the plane strapped in my seat. Thought I was on ops for a moment and they were going to drop me over enemy lines without a parachute. Why isn't he here?"

"Ah," said Miranda, unpinning the luggage tag that someone had thoughtfully pinned to her uncle's tunic. "I'll see to it, dad."

"Ray is fine," Jack said. "He just cannot drive at the moment, he'll tell you all about it. Oh, good, here's Miranda. My word!"

Miranda was driving in front of her a startled young man with a laden luggage trolley.

"Have you anything in that lot liable for duty?" Jack asked.

"Probably, but we don't have to declare it now, being in the EC."

"Don't we? Oh well, no matter. Thank you, lad. Now Miranda can you remember where we left the car? I can't."

 

"It's not fair!" Doyle complained as he hobbled back to his sofa after waving Miranda and Jack farewell. "I was just ready for a good fight, especially when you charged in yelling, 'What the hell have you been doing?', then Miranda says, 'we are not going one step more till dad and I have had a decent meal'. And you end up cooking bacon and eggs for four - more like five the way that girl eats. And my arm's aching." He settled back down, cradling it protectively.

Bodie, busy washing up, said something in Irish that sounded rude, then appeared with two glasses of a clear liquid.

"Here, get that down you. I didn't think much of my welcome home to England either. I was expecting to find you ready to fling yourself into my arms at the airport, and there's Jack looking like Job the Afflicted."

Doyle took a cautious sip and gasped.

"Are you sure this stuff has entered the country legally? No, don't answer that. I never throw myself into your arms at airports, I'd rather die. That's wishful thinking on your part."

"I should have stayed in Kildare for Christmas. I had some interesting offers," said Bodie proudly.

"I don't doubt it. Take any of them up, my lad, and I'll kneecap you."

"That's my Ray! Which bits are safe to hug?"

"None," said Doyle gloomily. "Along with the arm, I'm suffering from deep-seated bruising and multiple contusions. As your Bunty said, 'What do you expect falling out of a tree at your age?'. You can wash my back tonight," he added happily.

"What were you doing up a tree anyway?"

"I was conducting an aerial survey of the walled garden at the Dower House and the branch  
broke."

"So why was it you up a tree and not one of that gormless pair? I thought you were having nothing to do with that garden."

Doyle squirmed. "Wasn't their fault. Toby had gone to get a fresh flask of coffee, and I beat Missy to the tree. She did get out her mobile and call the ambulance damn quick! Well, I was  
bored. I'd finished the first draft of the book - you can read it tomorrow - you won't like it."

"Hum... " said Bodie. He looked in disbelief at his pile of luggage. "Wonder what's in there, I can't face it today. I need to change."

"I thought you didn't usually travel in your uniform," said Doyle curiously.

"I don't think Frideswith felt she knew me well enough to peel it off and there was no one else there qualified to do it."

"I find that a comfort," said Doyle.

 

"You look a real mess!" said Bodie as he washed Doyle vigorously. "Might as well have come off a horse!"

Doyle, enjoying the comfort of the warm water, stretched happily and sniffed.

"What's that you're using, not the soap you use on the horses is it?"

"It's Wright's Coal Tar. I use it on me."

"Haven't we got anything more sexy?"

Bodie gazed heavenwards, then spotting a bottle of essence of sweet pea left behind by Agnes, he poured some into the water.

"That's better!" said Doyle. "You know what annoyed me most?" he complained. "If it had happened two days before I'd have missed the sodding carol concert on the green! Even the brass band gave up, it was freezing! You won't credit it, but two of the Jenkins brats were paddling in the river - I kept hoping they would be swept away. When the vicar announced that the new heated church toilets were open, I was nearly knocked down in the stampede. Came back here with terminal frostbite. Um, that's nice."

He looked appreciatively at his companion's bare chest, then reached up and gave a nipple a friendly lick. Bodie twitched but went on soaping him, so he tried again.

"Just how warm would you like the rinsing water to be?" Bodie inquired.

"All right, I'll behave. You're a real Spartan!"

"Have to be, with your bed firmly off-limits. Do you have to keep falling asleep on me?"

"It's your own fault, keeping me up all night while you indulged in an orgy."

"A very mild orgy," said Bodie. "Why were you up all night anyway?"

"I didn't want you worried, arriving at the airport then seeing Jack's cheerful face," said Doyle reluctantly. "Not that..."

"Ah, that's my darlin' hairy little beast," said Bodie. "Come on, shift yourself before you turn into a prune."

oOo

"You're really milking that arm, aren't you?" said Bodie accusingly. Doyle, settling back on his sofa after consuming a large breakfast, beamed at him.

"Might as well enjoy it, the cast comes off soon." He surveyed Bodie, who was resplendent in full drag-hunt apparel. "You're off out then this morning?"

"Jack's calling for me with the horse box."

"That's fine," said Doyle expansively. "The fresh air will do you good."

Bodie looked at him in disbelief. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all. John Heaton will be round presently, you'll be in the way."

Bodie raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes, what's he got that I haven't?"

"Well, he'll be here for a start. I wish you'd get those bags unpacked, they are cluttering up the place."

"I'll do... " Bodie paused. "Oh damn, one has plants in it from a friend of Oonagh for you."

Doyle closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Idiot! Which one?"

He was on his knees hauling out dirty laundry and rather dishevelled small plants when Toby and Moretta arrived laden with packages.

"Morning, Uncle Ray, just have to put these in the fridge. Dad says would you walk Piper down to the horse box, Uncle Will. He can't face turning it in the lane."

"Not after taking my side gate off last time," said Doyle bitterly.

"I'd better get Piper out," said Bodie.

"I'll give you a hand," said Doyle, then to his guests, "Clear the table and get sorted out. John will be here soon with the plans."

"I can manage," said Bodie as they walked down the yard.

"Don't be daft, I want a private moment with you sans audience. Piper, can we have a tryst in your stable?"

"The ould fella's looking really well," said Bodie, patting his horse. "You've taken good care of him."

"He's no trouble. Did I tell you we came second in the cross-country race last month?"

"Good for you," said Bodie giving him a hug, "Who came first?"

"Poppy Blackett. Really takes after her aunt, that girl."

"There," said Doyle after some very affectionate moments. He straightened Bodie's stock.

"Now, do try to come back whole and undamaged, I need your full attention this evening."

 

"I forgot you'd come back fizzing with adrenaline once off that damned horse," Doyle complained.

He was lying limply on the sofa. "Suppose I should be grateful you took your boots off first!"

Bodie, enjoying his meal, smiled reminiscently. "This is really good," he remarked.

"Yes, we are guinea pigs for the menu at tonight's dinner at the Hall. I told her it was too good for them."

"Who?" Bodie inquired.

"County branch of some organisation Bessie usually deals with. Agnes is going on saying she can't wait for her to be back and take up some of the slack."

"She will have a long wait," said Bodie. "Jack told me while we were out that she and Andre decided not to bother with an engagement, they married last week."

"Oh hell!" said Doyle, ''there goes my favourite theatre partner. When's he planning to tell Agnes?"

"As he bawled the news to me across the field, I imagine half the Hunt will have phoned up to express congratulations, so she's bound to hear about it."

The phone rang. "You take it," said Doyle.

Bodie did. "Ah Agnes, what a surprise. " He moved the phone away from his ear. Agnes seemed definitely upset.

"It appears," said Bodie, carefully covering the mouthpiece, ''that Jack has told her I gave him the news. She feels I'm responsible."

"He's a liar," said Doyle indignantly.

"No, it's called deflecting enemy fire. He has to live with her, remember." He listened again.

"Still going on, talking about poor dear Ray now."

"Is she?" said Doyle. He rose from his sofa. "Give me the phone!"

Bodie handed it over then cheerfully returned to his dinner.

"Now look here, Agnes... " Doyle began. After this mild start he really revved up, ending with" ...and if you were not such an utter cow to your daughter-in-law, you'd have more help around the place."

Looking much rejuvenated, he replaced the phone and returned to the sofa.

"Wonder how long before Jack is on," said Bodie musingly. "I don't think we'll get invited to the Hall for Christmas now."

"You have sent our best wishes to Bessie and Andre?" Doyle inquired.

"Yes, and wired flowers. Better get that last bag unpacked."

Doyle watched wearily as his companion bustled about then, extracting two large framed photographs, began to look for a space on the walls.

"Hang on!" said Doyle. "Nothing goes up without my agreement, remember?"

"It's just our group photograph for the year," said Bodie. "See if you can spot me."

"Which are the girls?" Doyle inquired.

"The ones with the plaits!" said Bodie.

"Well, you all look very well-scrubbed."

"This is our Drag Hunt Group," said Bodie proudly. "They are a great bunch."

Doyle gazed without enthusiasm at the happy group of beaming, dishevelled riders all clutching glasses while horses milled about.

"Which one is you? Oh, yes, the one with the muddy face and a pint in each hand!"

"I was minding it for someone else," said Bodie virtuously.

"It's amazing," said Doyle. "Take a decent, well brought up lad, he throws a leg over a horse and turns into a swaggering, booted thug. That's never a pub in the background, that ruin?"

"We just stumbled over it on our travels," said Bodie lightly.

"After intensive study of the local ordnance survey map and long range reconnaissance, I imagine," said Doyle.

"They like us to show initiative. What do you think? Shall I take down pa's paintings of the dead ducks?"

"Splendid idea, we can give them to your Charles as a wedding present."

Bodie gave him a look.

"Well, perhaps not. Oh, scrub the book, let's watch that detective bilge on the box and have an early night. I've a damned parish council meeting in the morning - last one till New Year, thank God. Speak to me, Bodie!"

Bodie looked up from the first pages of Being all Unblest. "Sorry, your opening paragraph grabbed me."

"Good, it's meant to."

 

Doyle, rising much later than he intended, hurried into the kitchen. To his displeasure Jack was seated at his table enjoying a hearty breakfast.

"Don't you ever eat at home?" Doyle demanded.

"Not if I can help it," said Jack. "Tempers always frayed there at this hour. Just telling Will if you would like to go over for the tenant's party, Toby and Missy would be happy to see you. Must rush over now and tell Mervyn that Agnes and I will be seeing the new century in on the left bank of the Seine. Funny, that's where we met, you know..."

"No," said, Doyle. "You're never going abroad!"

"Yes, tell him, Will. " He hurried out.

Doyle, stunned, started to scramble some eggs. "Expect he's going to have seconds at Mervyn's. What have I missed?"

"Well, after your few words with Agnes she dashed into the snug and threw a tantrum. Jack told her not to worry, Missy and Toby would see to the dinner for the Loyal Sons of Gloucester. Naturally she shot out in ten seconds, but he decided they needed to get right away from it all, told Toby and Missy he was dropping them in it, to book them a flight and hotel on the net and spoke to Bessie. Andre invited them down to Provence for a visit in the New Year, and that was that."

"I find a decisive Jack rather unsettling! It's not natural to him. How are the bratlings taking it?"

"When he left they were making out a plan of campaign and seemed delighted."

oOo

"Just a couple more items," said Mr Potter to his increasingly restive audience. "We must thank Mr Jenkins for his son Idwal's public spirited action in preventing Mr Bradley from sacking up and removing the top soil from the village hall garden - by mistake, of course."

Doyle glanced round; the various expressions ranged from, 'Oh really,' to 'Pull the other one, mate'. Nothing like making an ex-poacher gamekeeper he thought. Worth a tenner, that was.

"Now," Mr Potter went on, ''the vicar has expressed disquiet about us having a duck race this year after last year's - er - incident, which could have been serious."

Doyle looked inquiringly at Mr Bates, his neighbour who, to allay extreme boredom, was busy making out his new vegetable seed list.

"What happened?" Doyle hissed behind his hand.

Bates whispered back, "Lizzie Stebbins held a Jenkins lad's head under water."

"He tried to nobble their Geraint's duck?"

"That's it. Mind you, she did overdo it a little."

"I thought that made it more exciting," said Mrs Perkins; she had an ongoing feud with the Jenkins family.

"Perhaps we had better vote on it."

Everyone voted for the duck race - even Jenkins senior, to Doyle's surprise. He looked at Mr Bates.

"He takes the side bets," he said. "Pity Lizzie isn't here, it's much more lively when she is."

The meeting finally broke up with good wishes on every side. Doyle began to make his way home after a fortifying drink at the Brewers; he had left Bodie working through his manuscript and making copious notes. It was worrying.

By the time Doyle had reached home, he was ready to defend his novel to the last line. On entering the kitchen he found Bodie looking very thoughtful, a neat pile of 'corrections' beside his manuscript. His resolve hardened.

"Would you like me to stand to attention or may I sit down?" he inquired. "I'm not one of your bloody cadets, you know. Since you've been at that place..."

"You can stand on your head for all I care, Doyle. But if you're looking for a fight, I'm off to bed - alone."

Doyle sat down and glared at him. "So what's wrong with it?"

Bodie walked over and poured himself a drink. "You want one?"

"No, I stopped at the Brewers after the meeting."

"I see. Well, your plot's fine, the characters are good, apart from your hero - he's an insufferable prig. The villain is excellent, there won't be a dry eye in the house when he gets topped. But there are acres of dead wood that need cutting out, especially," he consulted his notes, "pages 120 to 132."

"That," said Doyle, taking a quick look, "is where I'm explaining the historical context. I think it's needed."

"Let them look it up for themselves," said Bodie heartlessly. "It stops the action stone dead. They'll skip it anyway."

"I see. Anything else you don't like?"

"Yes, far too much of the gospel according to Raymond Doyle. If you want a soap box, inflict it on the parish council meetings, serve them right for being civic-minded. Keep it out of your books."

"I would humbly point out," said Doyle, "that thanks to lack of financial input from you, it's my books that have kept us afloat all these years."

"What has that to do with it? You were writing better then, too."

The door slammed as Doyle left the kitchen.

Bodie sighed and got up to make coffee.

 

Doyle looked across the pond. George and Mildred had turned in for the night. More sense than me, he thought. On reflection, storming out of the house without a warm jacket had been a mistake, especially on a cold December night. Saying his hero was a humourless prig... Well yes, he is, Doyle agreed to a passing owl, but I didn't want it confirmed. He shivered.

"Trust you," said Bodie in a resigned tone. He dropped Doyle's jacket over his shoulders, then thrust a mug of hot coffee into his hands. "I don't remember this bench," he remarked.

"New acquisition, so I can sit here and look at all the work that needs doing. You were just supposed to say, 'Ray, it's wonderful!'."

"We are not standing here courting pneumonia, let's get inside and fight in comfort."

"All right, it is getting parky." His teeth were starting to chatter. "You've put rum in this! I don't like rum."

"Acts like anti-freeze."

When they were settled by the Aga, Doyle looked over the pages.

"I agree lumps of it don't work. I should never have started a great tragic drama, I'm no good on the love stuff."

"I've no complaints in that area."

"Crawler! Writing it, I mean - passion gets all my syntax gummed up. How much of a re-write does it need? I may well cut my throat as an easier option."

"Ray, it's late."

"Well, you're not planning to do anything else, are you?"

Bodie began to work through the manuscript, blue pencilling whole passages.

"It's going to be a very short novel at this rate!" Doyle complained.

"You are not paid by the word, far too many long novels about these days. Are you dead set on keeping this part?"

Doyle glanced at it. "No, cut it. Funny thing, it read wonderfully when I first wrote it. Bet you are just as rotten with your cadets."

"Of course. Decided where we are having Christmas dinner this year?"

"At the farm as usual, Ashley's young lady will be joining us. Ceinwen Stebbins, I'm told."

"Alice and George have invited us over for Boxing Day," said Bodie, "Winkle is taking the children to her parents in Freiburg for Christmas. What do you think?"

"Might as well, not right lunching with a conservative M.P. who's even more reactionary than you. Anyway, Alice is keen to hear all about the garden discoveries. John's drawn us another possible plan. Why are you stopping?"

"Because it's 2.30 and I'm not writing another line."

"You've another eight chapters to go, no stamina that's your problem."

"I've roughed out the changes you need to make and some cuts, then you're home and dry."

Doyle glanced over the pages. "Why don't you write, Bodie?"

"Because I have to spend my time doing corrections night after night. I did have an article printed in the Military Gazette."

"Paid for?"

"Of course."

Bodie, making notes, was mercifully unaware that Doyle was gazing at him with the fatuous expression of one whose loved but dim child has just announced he has received eighteen out of twenty for spelling.

 

"You were complaining about my stamina?" said Bodie, some time later.

"Well, you're not bad for an old 'un," Doyle admitted. "That hurt!"

"Good. We have tickets for a play tomorrow night."

"Oh, what, and how did you acquire them?"

"Macbeth, from Ed, it's his nephew's production - Ed can't stand Shakespeare - at the Royal, Gretton."

"Could be all right. What does that man do apart from buying expensive horses with very dodgy habits?"

"He's a stockbroker."

"You do have some rubbishy friends, Bodie!"

oOo

"I shall never forgive you for tonight," said Doyle as they drove home. "The minute I saw that blasted oak on the stage with the stagnant pool, and a programme note saying the cast had been vaccinated against tetanus, I knew we were in trouble,"

"You could have collected me from the bar and left," Bodie pointed out.

"That's another thing. You should have been suffering with me. I couldn't. Felt I had to stay. And it got worse." He paused gloomily.

"Chalk it down to experience," said Bodie blithely. "I'll tell Ed he had a narrow escape."

"Yells of raucous laughter from the bar didn't help. What was going on in there?"

"Probably when Frank was telling his jokes."

"You'd like to share one?"

"Er, no."

"Christmas seems to have started early from the number of drunks about," said Doyle. "Why the hell is that van crawling up my back? And another thing, Bodie..."

"He's trying to pass, looks like the Jenkins van. Ray! Step on it! There's a police car after him!"

"Shit! We need an opening somewhere..."

He had just spotted a likely one when a car appeared round the corner ahead.

"That's it then," said Doyle, turning the wheel and putting his foot down.

Afterwards Bodie related that they had crashed through a gate, been struck from behind by an M.G. which was also making evasive manoeuvres, and their car had bounced down a slope ending in a large ornamental pond.

Doyle, whose head had impacted on something hard, became aware that his seat belt was being wrenched off, there was a strong smell of swamp, then Bodie was hauling him from the car. He realised that not only the police siren but also a burglar alarm was clamouring away, while Bodie cursed steadily in Irish.

"You all right, Ray?"

"No," said Doyle, with conviction. "I am going to be sick," and he was.

"Good God, Bodie! Is that your car in my pond? What's that M.G. doing stuck in the gateway?" a voice inquired.

"Morning, Ed," said Bodie. "If the police want us, we are in your kitchen."

Doyle, still groggy, was assisted into the most revoltingly sterile kitchen he had ever entered. A large woman, whom he vaguely recognised, began to dab at his head while commanding Bodie to wipe his muddy boots. As Doyle was now bleeding gently but steadily onto the floor's pristine surface, he considered that a wasted effort.

A young policeman entered. He looked suspiciously at Bodie - well, he would, Doyle admitted. He was big, butch, obviously in a foul temper, Irish...

"I was driving," said Doyle. "Who was the cretin who belted round that corner? What have you done with the Jenkins boys?"

"Mr Gould and the occupants of the van have been taken to Gretton Hospital."

"Good. Could you extend the same courtesy to Mr Doyle and get him a fucking ambulance?" said Bodie savagely.

"One is on the way. Could I see your identification, sir?"

Bodie, please don't get yourself arrested, Doyle prayed as Bodie handed over his ID.

"This is a military pass, sir."

"Of course," said Bodie. "I've come to..."

"Commandant Bodie is here on leave visiting his brother-in-law, Lord Bicester," said Doyle. "You know, the local J.P.? And before we get bogged down in trivia can you explain why, while the culprits plus the ejit driving that M.G. have all had a fast passage to hospital I, an innocent victim, having had the worst night of my life, am left here bleeding all over this good woman's floor!"

Ray's definitely feeling better, Bodie thought with relief.

"There you are, Mr Doyle," said an officer, known to them. "What a mess, eh? Mr Westbrook has phoned the garage to winch your car out of the pond." He gave Doyle a pat on the shoulder, "Ambulance is on its way."

"I am not," said Doyle, "going to that dump in Gretton!"

"Not to worry, the Cottage Hospital can take you. That will be it now."

"I hope," said Grace, "you are going to remove all those dead turkeys from the lane, they will attract vermin!"

"Yes, madam, they are evidence. Every last bird will be removed."

 

"Fourth time this year, isn't it?" said Dr Halligen as he stitched Doyle's head. "You keen gardeners do keep us in work."

"Number three was just to get the knee serviced," Doyle pointed out. "Can't count that. What have you done with Bodie?"

"Sent him off with Miss Stafford for a coffee, wash and shave."

"Could do with that myself," said Doyle wistfully.

"There, that should hold you. Now, you have had a shot so you could get a little woozy. Have a good rest."

"Ha!" said Doyle. "Now, how to get home... "

Bodie appeared. "Transport's sorted out, Toby and Miranda are here. Can we be off?"

 

"Thank God!" said Doyle reverently as they entered their kitchen. "What a night. I couldn't face asking the kids in."

He looked at Bodie, "Come here. Got yourself in a right two-and-eight, didn't you." He began to pat and hug his partner soothingly. "It's all over, we are both still here.

"Mind you," he added when they were settled by the fire with hot drinks, "I would have been seriously displeased if I'd had to spend Christmas visiting you in Gretton nick! Hope that car's a write-off. I never really took to it. Come on, let's have breakfast and get to bed!"

oOo

"How much sleep did you get?" Doyle inquired as they ate in the late afternoon of the next day.

Bodie shrugged, "Not much."

"Gave up on the idea myself, catch up tonight. Now, who's this unwelcome visitor?"

"I'll go."

Bodie ushered a very ebullient Toby into the kitchen.

"Wow! That's a terrific black eye you have, Uncle Ray," he whooped.

"Thank you. No doubt it will cause intense speculation in the village," said Doyle bitterly.

"I've brought Dad's old Volvo for you to drive - it took me ages to find the keys, he will hide them. Couldn't see you driving round in Uncle Will's old van."

"Too right, especially now the paint is wearing off and you can spell out Dai Jenkins and Sons Fruit and Veg. How are you getting back to the Hall?"

"Miranda's picking me up later. Have you heard anything from Uncle Phil about the garden?"

"Give him time! We only e-mailed him last week - must be half a ton of your family papers to  
sift through."

"Probably find unpaid bills," said Toby realistically. "You made the stop press in the local paper - 'Author hurt in high speed car chase' - then it goes on about the high incidence of turkey rustling round here. They also had an interview with Mrs Westbrook complaining about the local cesspits."

"I can't stand that woman," said Doyle. "She's always scalding out flower vases and moaning about the bats while I'm trying to get that damned harmonium sorted out. By the way, haven't you some news for me and your Uncle?"

"How did you find out?"

"Let's put it this way, if you wanted to keep it a secret, Missy should not have fainted in the Wishing Well when Lizzie the Mouth was there."

"Very bad timing," Toby agreed. "We are delighted, but she could see them all reckoning up the months and we didn't, you know..."

"We know," said Doyle. "I think that's your sister for you, crashing her gears as usual."

oOo

"It's fascinating," said Alice Heaton, pouring over the garden plan on Boxing Day. "When did you find the well?"

"More like it found us," said Doyle. "Toby said, 'What's this' and leaned on some crumbling brickwork, which crumbled. Missy grabbed his legs and yelled for me. He couldn't have fallen far, it's all sludged up. They were all for clearing it then and there and going down with candles on their heads. The local archaeology people are on their knees begging to excavate it in the spring. There are plenty of interesting lumps and humps about too."

There was a roar of protest from the drawing room.

"I do wish George would not take war-gaming so seriously," said Alice.

"Bodie's as bad," Doyle admitted. "If he's commanding Clare's Regiment he has to win!"

"William seems very happy in his new position," said Alice.

"Yes, and they keep him on a good tight rein, which makes me happy too."

"No after-effects from your accident?" Alice inquired.

"No, I'm fine, just deciding what make of car to have now the old one is happily a write-off. Thinking of a Volvo like Jack's. It's a good goer, loads of room, even if people keep glancing to see how many sheep I have in the back!

"A colleague of Phil Higgins is coming over in the Spring to look at the garden and give us his advice. He has a lot to do with reconstructing historical gardens over there."

"Everything all right, John?" his mother inquired as her harried-looking son entered.

"Just about, busy totting up casualties. I told them I'd never referee them again - they looked at me as though I was mad!"

He was bearing up well in the absence of his wife and children, Doyle noted. A condition anyone who had met Ethel-Mae, Gladwyn, Ernest and Fedora would understand.

To Doyle's relief the two combatants now entered, chatting amiably.

"I'll ring Bernice to bring in the tea," said Alice. "We will see you both on the green on Millennium Night?"

"If only," said Doyle, ''to keep an eye on the fireworks. After all the trouble we had to get the new village hall up, I'd be damned annoyed if a stray rocket ignited it!"

oOo

31st December 1999

"Smells nice and warm in here," said Doyle looking about. "Made it a real home from home, haven't you? I should never have given you the tack room of your dreams, you spend all your time in here."

"You complained I was under your feet yesterday."

"That was yesterday. Look at those horses chewing away, happily oblivious that at 11.59 tonight all the lights could go out everywhere."

"They won't worry about that," said Bodie.

"Just check the pond, what's the time now?"

"11.30. Bells should be starting soon, if they are not too drunk to pull them."

They walked down the garden.

"Ducks are indoors," said Bodie.

"More sense than us. Come on, my feet are freezing already."

The bells started as they walked down to the village.

"The Brewers got their extension," said Bodie.

"You mean legally this time? Can I smell an ox roast? Yes, I can. There's Mervyn and Primrose with their tribe."

"Mr Doyle, the very best to you and Mr Bodie. Everything is going very well."

"Thought you would be busy up at the Hall," said Doyle as they walked along, Freeman, Hardy and Willis chatting away to Bodie.

"His Lordship thought I'd prefer to see the Millennium in here," said Mervyn. "Mr Middleton is in charge of the beacon, so all should be well."

Doyle paused. "Where the hell have you sited it? All Jack's land is extremely flat."

"It's on the hill at the back of Hamswell Hall. Sir Gregory and Lady Diana came over to lunch at Christmas and it was all arranged, joint party for the tenants too."

"My God!" said Doyle, "I thought that feud would last till Doomsday. Young Mrs Fanshaw perhaps?"

"Yes," said Mervyn, "a very persuasive young lady. Good, Mrs Armitage has arrived. Come along, children, we must go and speak to Auntie Fan."

The village's oldest inhabitant was being ushered to a chair by Idwal Jenkins. He came over to Doyle, metaphorically waving a white flag - probably because Bodie had now reappeared at Doyle's side, glowering.

"Down boy!" said Doyle quietly. "Evening, Idwal."

"I wanted to thank you, Mr Doyle, for persuading dad to put up bail for us. Honest, I'd rather have cut my arm off than run into you like that. Better go and see to Auntie." He scurried off.

"Only you would have kept that little tick out of jail," said Bodie.

"They are not bad lads, just stupid and their old man pays them in washers. I bet Penrice claims for more stolen turkeys than his sheds can hold."

"I hope Jack isn't as forgiving as you when they come up before him," said Bodie.

"You Irish do believe in bearing grudges. Damn, here's the vicar to say some cheering words, and the mob from the hospital! I wonder who's minding casualty."

After the singing of the national anthem and some cheering words from the Reverend, trays of glasses of mulled wine were circulated rapidly.

"Thanks, Jess. All the best," said Doyle. His partner was being embraced by an exuberant Bunty, then the countdown started with a positive fusillade of rockets and bangers, while the church clock wheezily struck the moments away.

"Wow!" said Doyle. "not bad at all, worth staying up for."

It's not fair, he thought resentfully, as all around them happy people embraced with enthusiasm, all Bodie and I can do is a chaste hug.

"Listen, Butch," he said, prising himself loose, "let's dump this lot after you've done your village squire impersonation, then walk home the long way round. We can pause to look at the beacons and that."

 

"You didn't have to kiss every female in the damned place," said Doyle, as they walked home, the long way, hand in hand.

Bodie pondered. "I didn't kiss Mrs Armitage, or Lizzie - or Grace, come to that."

"Well, no," Doyle agreed. "Look at that beacon! Let's hope it doesn't ignite everything for miles around. Pity that feud's over - there should be a society for the preservation of ancient animosities. Next thing the MacDonalds will be talking to the Campbells and the Talbots to the Stanleys, it's not right."

"That must be East Larton's beacon," said Bodie, pointing to a faint glow on the horizon.

"Late and second rate as usual," said Doyle. "And so," he went on in the manner of Mr Potter,  
"as we totter into the next century, who knows what challenges we shall have..."

He was interrupted by Bodie embracing him passionately.

"Pardon me!" said Doyle, when released, "I had not finished! Well, perhaps I'd better. Let's get home, celebrate ourselves. See the dobbins are all right. I wish Flash wasn't growing such a thick winter coat, feel like I'm riding a yak when we go out!"

Bodie roared. "Ray, you're wonderful!"

"I know," said Doyle, modestly. "So are you. Happy Millennium, Bodie!"

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Note  
> The poem quoted, which inspired Doyle's novel, is 'Come Not When I Am Dead' by Tennyson.


End file.
